


Into the Dark

by fictive_frolic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Smut, Thor is an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 20:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20936261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictive_frolic/pseuds/fictive_frolic
Summary: You're everything Thor hates in a woman and doesn't want in a queen. When his parents say that he has to marry you anyway, will he be able to find something about you to respect? Can he at least learn to treat you with kindness? Or will it be too late?





	1. Chapter 1

2024

Thor looks out his tower window in time to see you, arm in arm with Brunhilde. You’re laughing as you walk up the slope towards town from the docks. He’s too far from you to actually hear you, but he remembers the sound. He remembers hating that sound once. It was unladylike to his ears. But now… he would give anything. Anything at all to hear it more often. 

He remembered hating just the idea of you. The smell of your perfume,(jasmine and sandalwood) the color if your hair, the shape of your bosom. Everything. He hated everything So at odds with everything he’d thought a Princess should be. What his future queen should be. 

But now, looking down at himself and looking around at the tower where you only came to bring him something to sign or a hot meal, as he watched you take over his duties with ease, integrating New Asgard with Midgard like there was nothing to it, he hated himself. He hated what he did to himself and he hated that when you had needed him most, he’d left you. Neglected and afraid to face an uncertain future while he chased glory. 

He wondered how he could ever begin to heal the damage he had done. He wondered if he was even still your husband in your eyes. The second snap may have brought everyone back but it couldn’t make you love him again. 

Years Earlier

“Father, no. I beg of you. Do not make me do this,” Thor pleaded. He couldn’t look at Sif. Sif was looking at the floor to hide the sting of tears. “You will do this,” he said, “We will go to Midgard and you will meet this Princess. You will be betrothed and you will marry her. A King must have a proper queen.” Thor opens his mouth to protest that Sif would be his perfect Queen but Frigga clears her throat, “My son,” she says gently, “you haven’t even met Y/N yet. Please, give her a chance. I have known her Mother since long before you were born. We,” she looks at Odin and smiles slightly, “All of us agree that this is the best match. For both of you.”

Thor looks at his mother, still in a temper. Still furious. But in the face of her sweetness, he cannot say the harsh words he had wanted to say. He simply takes his leave to go.

That night, when Sif comes to him, he cannot turn her away either. He fucks her as if he’ll never see her again. As if this is the last time he’ll ever feel her in his arms. Because it is. He does not want to marry you. He doesn’t even want to meet you. But once the betrothal is done, he swears to himself he will not dishonor you. When Sif leaves him, he lets the tears fall. He prays to the Gods that you find him displeasing. That you’re a spoiled pettish brat. That you’re terrible enough that his Mother will plead to his father not to make him do this. 

The next morning he is silent. For once Loki is blessedly silent. Odin and Frigga ride ahead, bold on jaunty horses. They are overjoyed and neither one pays Thor much mind. 

“He’ll come round,” Odin assures Frigga the previous night in their rooms, “He’ll see a pretty face that turns his head and won’t think about this again. Y/N is a fitting queen. Young. But she reminds me of you,” He kissed Frigga’s forehead and the worried wrinkles smoothed as she laughed, “Oh no you don’t. You old sweet talker,” she said sternly, “What if he does not want her?” Odin smiles a little, “Want her or no, he will have her. Sif is a fine warrior. But, she is no queen. She will not temper Thor’s harsher impulses. He needs a steady hand to hold his. As you do mine.” Frigga lets the matter rest and hopes that he is right. He hopes that the little girl she once knew is ready for the storms she sees in her future. 

As they approach the gates of the Estate where the Queen of the Fey makes her home, Thor is unimpressed. Everything is primitive. Loki however, is sitting bolt upright, alert. He looks like he’s thinking. He can feel the power of the place. The magic that conceals its true form. He whistles softly and Frigga smiles at him, patting his hand. As the gates swing open and they pass through the veil a grand palace takes shape. A while line of drummers, knights, servants, herald their approach. At the end of it all, through a shower of jasmine petals, The Queen Amira and her Consort, Rath waits with their children. Or rather, Thor remembers, their daughter, you and their nieces whom they took to raise. 

He doesn’t know which one is you. He passionately does not care. But at a look from Frigga, he rearranges his features into something more pleasant. Odin and Frigga greet your family like old friends and Frigga cups your cheek fondly, “Oh my darling girl,” she exclaims, “You were a beautiful child that grew into an even lovelier woman.” You smile and murmur thanks. You look nervous and uncomfortable. You look like you’d like to run away and hide. Thor kisses your hand as is expected of him but says nothing beyond a polite greeting. You’re pretty enough he supposes. But your hands are ink-stained and the smell of your perfume is too… much. discordant smells that don’t fit you. You’re dressed in finery and the scent is too simple. You should be looking at him in the eye but you’ve only managed to do so fleetingly. Your two cousins stand at either of your elbows. One of them murmurs something to you and you press your lips together in a desperate bid not to laugh. You pointedly don’t look at them either. Thor rolls his eyes internally. You either giggle or you bray like a donkey, he’d swear to it. 

Tea is excruciating. You make few comments still pointedly not looking at either of your cousins. Loki is watching the three of you with interest. You all look alike but for the color of your eyes. He can only tell who you are by the shade of them. He is also quiet. Sulking internally. It’s Loki’s question about the magic that hides the house that finally spurs you to speak. You answer, intelligently, Thor supposes but he could do without you waxing poetic about the complexities of the sigils. Great, he thinks, instead of a warrior they give me a scholar. As if Asgard doesn’t have enough of those. 

Eventually, Amira and Odin dismiss the Children in the room. Amira because she senses your need to just move and disperse all your pent up energy and Frigga and Odin because Frigga is terribly close to kicking Thor under the table. His sulks and long pauses before answering your polite inquiries are testing her patience. You and your cousins part ways with them in the hall and they take your hands, one on either side, the three of you half running half skipping. You’d been so anxious and nervous that they’d devoted all their energy into making you laugh. The wheezing sound you make as you quietly try to die of laughter in the hall without drawing attention to yourself only makes it worse. You slap a hand over your mouth and the three of you are gone, around a corner and into the courtyard towards the stables before Frigga can stick her head out the door, “Good grief, what was that sound?” Your laugh and a high pitched gasp as you try and get your breath back answer her question. It’s distinctive. She smiles a little, “Oh dear, I wondered how long she could hold it together,” she says to Amira. 

“Charming,” Thor mutters bitterly. At least Sif could laugh like a lady. Frigga gives Thor a look and shuts the door firmly. Loki sighs and kicks his ankle, “Mother told me to,” he said shrugging.


	2. Chapter 2

The next week is torture for Thor. At least, that’s what he says when he’s alone with Loki. Frigga has no patience for his sulks and sighs and she refuses to let him disrespect his intended in her own home. When she threatens to have him flogged, he keeps his sulks to himself in front of her.

He can’t for the life of him see what makes you a queen. You sneak out at night and rabbit off to god knows where, coming home in the wee small hours of the morning with your cousins, shushing each other and giggling. You ride off any and all directions during the day, gone without a word, bag slung over your shoulder.

The day of the betrothal, set to coincide with your 22nd birthday, Thor is in a mood. He avoids everyone as best as he can. The Palace is being decorated and you’re having a wonderful time. A fine time. You’ve been running hither and yon like a child instead of being dignified. Loki of all people is in the thick of your maelstrom. It’s just… he hates it. He hates you. And he wishes you really were terrible so that he could feel better about being so cold in the face of your bright-eyed smiles and kind gestures. Your kindness only makes him want to hate you more. He needs you to be a terrible spiteful harpy. The fact that you’re not is just another disappointment.

The betrothal ball is beautiful. A Celebration to equal Asgard. You’re the birthday girl in the center of a sea of well-wishers, dancing and playing. You’re dressed in Midgardian clothes, a short dress and heels. Hair and Makeup. You look good. And you know it. The band plays all your favorite songs and as the night wears on you start to keep your distance from Thor. You tried. You tried to get him to dance and the frosty stare and the curt, “I don’t dance” were enough to dampen your mood. You were supposed to marry the man and every word he spoke to you was polite but absolutely less than apathetic. He stared through you as if you were nothing. 

At the stroke of midnight, Odin and Amira gather the assembled and Thor pushes a betrothal ring onto your finger. He doesn’t look at you and when he kisses you, it is dutiful, brief, and nothing like you always wanted your first kiss to be. You smile through the heartbreak and beg off long before the party ends, pleading exhaustion from so much excitement. You’re long gone before anyone knows where you’ve left. You cry, silent tears in the dark of your bedroom. Face down in the pillow lest any sound escape. In your mind, you count down your last days of semi-freedom. You will do your duty. You will do as your mother asks. There are ties that bind and your cousin is the rightful heirs to the throne as the firstborn. This is your lot as the youngest and last to have an attachment of any kind. You sob as your heart shatters into a million pieces. All your life you dreamed of true love and adventure. You wanted Beauty and the Beast but not quite so literally. 

Your betrothed was handsome, certainly. Brave, without question. But there was no kindness in him. Or if there was, it wasn’t going to be for you. 

In the morning, you apply makeup to your face to hide the red eyes and dark circles. You smile, you laugh. You open gifts that there weren’t time for the day before. You thank your guests kindly for their gifts. You suspect Thor did not choose his gift for you. A delicate bracelet inlaid with diamonds and mother of pearl. His look of surprise tells you that that is the case and your heart sinks a little lower. You feel raw and bruised and it takes all your energy to hide your true feelings from the perceptive eyes of Frigga and your mother. You just want to be alone. You want to lick your wounds and try again tomorrow. But tomorrow is your last day at Home. You’re leaving for Asgard. For a new life. A new kingdom. A literal alien planet. 

Leaving is harder than you expected. None of you cry. You never cry in public. In the bright court, sorrow is to be felt in private. You exchange bracelets with your cousins. You all match. each of you has bands in the other’s colors, never to be taken off until you meet again. Your mother kisses your forehead and your father hugs you. And that is that. You ride next to Thor, safely between him and Loki. It isn’t until you pass through the veil that a few tears slide down your cheeks. Loki is flustered and Thor stares at you blankly. Frigga is the one to squeeze your hand reassuringly. She’s been the one to ride away from home before and she knows how terrifying and heartbreaking it can be. 

The trip through the Bifrost leaves you breathless and trembling. It feels like you’ve been disassembled and spit back out in more or less the right order. The mount under you is calm and that helps. if this massive beast is calm then you must be fine. You pat the horse’s neck and swallow hard to quell the nausea roiling in your belly. All of Asgard has turned out to See Thor’s betrothed and even in front of his own people he spares you no more than a glance. You smile and wave like you’re expected to, trying to school your features into a regal calm you don’t feel. You want to fall through a crack in the floor or throw yourself off the nearest cliff. Most importantly you want to cry. You want to cry and scream and throw a fit. But you don’t. 

“This is my duty.”

A singular thought. A mantra. An affirmation. It rings through your mind steadily. The beat of a drum that guides your steps and keeps your smile frozen in place. These are my people now, you tell yourself. I will protect them as I would my Fey. Thor escorts you to your room and leaves you at the door. No well wishes, not even a fuck you and finally you can’t take it anymore. You look up at the giant of a man and bite out, “I don’t want to marry you either, you know.”

Your words stop him and he rounds on you and says bitterly, “So sorry I disappoint you, your highness.” His sneer hits you like a blow and your shoulders slump. You wish you had the vitriol towards him that he seems to have for you. You wish you had been better prepared with cunning and guile. That you had had your heart broken so many times there were no more pieces big enough to break again. But you have none of those things. So you slink into your room and dismiss your maids to wait on yourself. 

You sulk in the bath in water so hot your skin is reddened and tender, scrubbing and sniffling until you feel clean. Until the weight of his sneer is gone. There is a feast tonight, meant to welcome you and the only thing you want to welcome you is the bed. You want to sleep until you feel better. Instead, you dress for dinner. You wear something that might please your betrothed. And if not him, Frigga. You love Frigga. You always have. She’s wonderful. 

When you arrive Thor does not look at you and puts your hand on his arm in the most perfunctory way that you feel like nothing. But you paste on your brightest smile and firm up your shields to hide your true feelings. You see the longing glances that pass between him and Sif. Everyone does. They aren’t subtle. You pretend not to see. You talk with Loki. You talk with Frigga. You talk with the warriors three. You are charming. You are sweet. You are solicitous. On the way to dinner you decided that if you could not be beloved, you would at least be respected. If your husband could not love you then perhaps you could be respected by his people. You listen to the talk around the table. Your sharp ears catch every whisper and inside you just want to die. Frigga pats your hand, “You look tired, dear,” she says gently, “Perhaps you ought to rest?”

You give her your first real smile all day, “Thank you, your majesty” you murmur, “I do feel overtired.” You make quiet excuses. You cannot stand to see your betrothed making cow eyes at another. You can’t stand the whispers and glances in your direction. Frigga looks at Odin and raises her eyebrow. The look she only gives him when she is furious. Odin nods quietly inclining his head. This is a disgrace and your kindness does not deserve such harshness. 

Just when you feel like you’re safe. Your maids dismissed where you can quietly cry and rage until you sleep, there’s a knock on your door. “Enter,” you sigh, wiping away the first tears hurridly and glamoring your face to hide the evidence. Loki enters with two goblets of wine and smiles a little, “I thought you might want this,” he said. You huff out a laugh and swallow hard to swallow the sob that threatens to burst out, “Thank you, Loki,” you say quietly. You take one goblet and sit on a chair. Loki takes another leaving the door open so that anyone who might pass by only sees the pair of you sitting apart and having a chat. “I’m sorry,” he says, “about Thor.” You shake your head, “His behavior is not yours to apologize for, my friend.” You sip your wine, “He’ll either come around or he won’t. But I’m here now and I’m rather stuck… Is there a library here?” Loki grins and toasts you silently, “My lady, Asgard has several fine libraries… I’m sure mother would be pleased if you’d set your considerable talents to organizing and expanding them. I would help you of course.” He feels for you. A fish out of water. A sheep among wolves. He feels for you and he’s ashamed of his brother. You’d be a fine wife. A good queen. And he’s so stuck on Sif that he can’t or won’t give you a second glance. Loki doesn’t want you that way, it’s true. But he could always use another friend. They aren’t in great supply for him in Asgard. 

You smile and nod, “I’d like that,” you say, “Thank you.” With that, Loki takes his leave, quietly shutting your door. He hopes it’s enough. Mother might have put him up to it but he does genuinely enjoy your company.


	3. Chapter 3

The wedding preparations and learning your duties keep you busy. So busy that you don’t see your intended but for meals and in passing. He mostly ignores you unless his mother is watching for which you are grateful. Your emotions are wrung out. You have no feelings left to spare for Thor’s sulking. 

You’re far from home and patently unwanted by the person who is supposed to spend the rest of his life with you. Thor isn’t outright cruel to you and Sif, because of convention can’t approach you first. So you simply give her a wide berth and avoid her too. Let them make eyes at each other. What do you care? 

At least that’s what you tell yourself but every glance you catch Thor making sears your heart like cold iron. Odin and Frigga restrict Sif to training soldiers to keep her away from Thor. Trying to spare you the pain of being outright dishonored. Thor doesn’t kiss her. But more than once when you’ve been looking for him to tell him Loki or his Mother or his father wanted him, you’ve found him murmuring of love into her ear. You simply clear your throat and calmly state that someone wanted him before turning on your heel and leaving. 

You can’t even be jealous. They had centuries together. You’re the interloper. The thing he didn’t want. You keep the pain close to your chest. This is not your kingdom. These are not your friends. Thor will always be their first priority, regardless of the love Frigga may have for you and the esteem Odin holds your family in. You only show any distaste for the situation in your private journals. Writing angry letters and doodling various ways you’d happily end your life. Stick figures walking off cliffs and making nooses. It’s the only outlet you have for your unhappiness. You tell yourself that this is your duty. You tell yourself that this is home. You try. You get to know the palace children. You learn the ropes from Frigga. You spend hours researching protocol and diplomacy. Anything to stay busy. 

Frigga sees your distress. She knows that the iron burns on your arms and hands are probably not all due to your own clumsiness. She pleads with Odin to let you go home. To cancel the wedding and send your dowry back and send you with it, but he won’t. He knows what comes. He saw the same soothsayer that Frigga did. Thor needs you whether he’ll acknowledge it or not. As the wedding draws nearer your smile gets more brittle and you feel less and less like trying. You’re tired of the stone wall of his indifference. You wish you had never been born and honestly, you feel abandoned. 

Every dress fitting something needs to be nipped in. Every endless day trying to arrange for a week of feasts makes you want to tear your hair out. Instead, you seek solitude. Long forgotten corners of the library. Dusty books no one has looks at in centuries. You hide just to have a moment alone. You don’t even feel like a princess. You certainly don’t feel like yourself. You’ve never felt so alone or desperate. When the week of feasts start you cast a spell on yourself. One for contentment. You are content and the storm in your mind is calm. You can’t care about Thor and Sif because the sky is blue and so is your dress. You don’t care about the mocking laughter when Thor dances with Sif instead of you because the stars are different and it’s fascinating. 

Every day you are calm and smiling and content. It’s magic but no one needs to know that. No one needs to know that as you sink into your bath, sinking low in the water you wonder if you really can drown in the bathtub if you try hard and believe in yourself. The day of the wedding not only are you content but you are slightly drunk. It quells the terror nicely. It keeps your knees from shaking so you can walk. 

Neither you or Thor look at each other as your hands are bound. You because you can’t stand to see the indifference on his face. Thor because you aren’t Sif. You aren’t who he wants and he cannot simply will you to be. When Thor kisses you, another dutiful, dispassionate peck there is polite applause. He looks at you, a flicker of you think perhaps, interest when he tastes the alcohol clinging to your lips. He walks you to the reception hall, stone-faced and silent. You are silent but smiling. Drunk and bespelled just to avoid the crushing weight of the anger and pain threatening to push the air from your lungs. He escorts you to a chair and in the din, after a week or more of not so much as glancing at you, he speaks. “Y/N, are you well?” he asks too quietly for anyone else to hear. “Of course,” you say, still smiling and slightly vacant because the spell won’t let you not be okay.

He looks into your face and then quietly pours you a goblet of water, pushing it towards you, “Drink that,” he says sternly. The spell tells you that it’s the start of a love story. That everything is fine. So you drink it. Anything uncomfortable gets pushed from your mind. When he leads you dutifully through a first dance, avoiding glancing at Sif and keeping his hands firmly in polite positions, you are still smiling. Still vacant. Just being close to Thor hurts. So he isn’t Thor. He’s a nameless, faceless stranger. 

You don’t remember most of the feast but, you don’t want to either. When Thor puts your hand on his arm and leads you towards your shared chambers you don’t feel humiliated the way you might otherwise have done when someone shouts for him to just pretend that you’re someone else. 

Thor shuts the chamber door and shuts out the light. His hands are confident as he strips you. Confident and dispassionate. You knew vaguely that this was coming. It’s a duty. Even if you don’t want it. Even if you had hoped that this would be less… clinical. You stay bespelled and wish you had drunk more wine. Thor strips you gently and tucks you into bed and then strips himself before joining you. Even in the dark he’s hulking and muscular. “Do you consent?” he asked quietly. If you object, he’ll stop but you know that it’s your duty and you must. “Of course,” you say, “It’s what I’m for I suppose.” You are tired and it’s harder to stay bespelled. That was unintentionally blunt. Even your husband winces but he nods, “I suppose so,” he says. 

That hurts. It stings. And despite the spell, you blink back tears thankful for the dark. Thor is gentle with you, careful not to hurt you. He’s surprised that you’re still a virgin and looks at you guiltily when he’s spent. He looks at your back in the moonlight. The soft skin he’d been pretending belonged to Sif. You turned away from him as soon as he moved off of you. Any discomfort you felt your own to deal with. You don’t want him to touch you. You curl around your disappointment flowing down your cheeks in silent tears. It wasn’t supposed to be dutiful and clinical. You weren’t supposed to be drunk and bespelled. It was supposed to be love. Sweet, and maybe shy. You wake in the morning long before Thor after a fitful sleep. You feel sick and sad and all you want is to lay in bed and wallow in it. Instead, you go to the stable. You know Thor won’t want to see you anyway, and frankly, you don’t want to see him either. So you get on a horse and you ride. You have no destination. Unless it’s just “away”. You wander far. As far out as you please and to hell with the whispers. Thor doesn’t want you. To him, you’re less than a duty. You’re a burden. 

When Thor wakes alone he feels guilty all over again. He deflowered you and you spent the night tossing and turning next to him, uncomfortable and homesick. You deserved better. He should have at least held you. But, judging by the fact that your pillow was still damp from all the tears you cried, he didn’t think that would have helped. He thought of you. Vacantly smiling. The burn of liquor. Strong liquor on your lips. You had had to be drunk and bespelled to go through with this. He promised himself that he’d try to be better. He watched from the window. Your small form on horseback, riding like an army was after you. Desperate for exertion. For freedom. For a sense of normalcy. He watched and frowned. He knew it was unlikely you were pregnant after last night but riding like that was unacceptable. The sooner you gave him his heir and a spare the sooner he never had to touch you again. An arrangement that would probably, he reflected, make you the happiest you’d been thus far.


	4. Chapter 4

“You’re pregnant,” Thor says, early one morning. He’s blinking at you in surprise. Almost as if he didn’t expect it. You feel your heart drop to somewhere around your feet. It doesn’t take much to avoid looking at him. He never expects you to look at him. He doesn’t expect you to flinch away from him when he reaches for your hand. His own hand drops and he nods to himself. You never really want him to touch you if you can avoid it. But some of the hardness in his face softens as he looks at you now.

“Go see mother,” he says quietly. An order. You swallow back telling him to go fuck himself. Your last hope was to be barren and then maybe you could end this farce. But scarcely a month into marriage and a handful of couplings later, clearly that is not the case. “I will,” you say flatly. You want to ask him if he’s off to see Sif this morning but you already know. They may be forbidden from being alone together but that doesn’t mean they avoid each other. You stand up from the table and start to leave but Thor catches your hand making you freeze.

You’re so touch starved you don’t care who’s touching you. You just need someone to hold you and tell you it’ll be okay. “Yes, husband?” you ask your voice still toneless in your shock. He wants to tell you he’s pleased with you but instead, he drops your hand. “Nothing,” he says turning back to his breakfast. Your face tells him you feel nothing about this news. He can count on one hand the number of times you’ve even spoken more than a few words to him since the wedding. He’d thought that preferable. But in bed, as he looks at your back, as you move as far from him as you can after he’s found release, he can count your ribs. He looks down at the plate you left behind, where there’s hardly anything eaten and glances back up to see you already gone. Away from him to find whatever comfort you can.

Guilt gnaws at him again and he hates you for it. He wants you to be mean. He wants you to be angry. He doesn’t want you to make sure that the breakfast table has his favorite things on it. That his armor is polished to a mirror finish, that everything in your shared chamber is arranged to his liking. You’re the mother of his child now, he tells himself, he needs to be a better husband. And he means to. He doesn’t know anything about you because he never bothered to ask. But he goes in search of a peace offering. Something that might at least remind you that this is his child too.

Alone, far from everyone as you can get, you cry. You’d give anything to be at home with someone who’d dry your tears and hand you a cup of tea. It’s Frigga who finds you. She’d been searching for you, needing to show you something about her healing wing. You try and stop crying, still considering anyone on Asgard to be “public” instead of family. She pulls you into her arms gently and holds you. She doesn’t know what her son had done to you to make you this distraught but she intended to have words with him. She was over his stolen moments with Sif as if he were a schoolboy instead of a man with a wife. “I’m sorry,” you say quickly, wiping your face with your sleeve and trying to adjust yourself clumsily. “What happened, darling?” she asks gently. You smile a little. You can’t bring yourself to tell her you’re with child. You simply can’t. Besides. Thor didn’t order you to tell her. He only ordered you to see her. And you had.

“Nothing,” you say, “Really, a misunderstanding I am sure.” It’s not a lie. Nothing had happened that you considered important so the rules that disallowed you lying didn’t make you choke. She doesn’t believe you, you know but she doesn’t press. You follow her to the healing wing and learn what she has to show you, grateful for the distraction for a little while but your trembling hands and pale skin have Frigga putting you on a table to examine you just as Thor comes crashing through the door.

She frowns at him, stopping him dead as she runs practiced hands over your body. You’re more emotionally distressed than she realized. She can feel how thin you are and now that she’s examining you she can feel the new life starting to grow inside you. The dull hollow feeling in your chest makes her eyes sting. There is nothing you’ve felt that isn’t exposed to her and she kisses your forehead gently. You’ve been in misery. She knows that’s not a natural state for you. Your natural state is joy. You were made to walk in the sunshine. Hopeful optimism and kindness are the traits she wanted you for. But now? You’re hollow and wrung out. The few times you are content you’ve bespelled yourself just to make it through the day. She keeps a hand on your cheek, gently rubbing your cheekbone as she whispers instructions to one of her ladies to escort you back to your bedchamber and let you lie down.

You go, a Lady in waiting to support you, holding your arm. You don’t even look at Thor. You don’t bother. It’s not as if anything that happens to you actually matters. Once you’ve been helped into night clothes and put to bed, Thor dismisses the ladies and brings you the goblet his mother handed him. Her warnings and her scolding still ringing in his ears. He’s not to so much as look at Sif again or she’ll have her banished. He’s to be a model husband and treat you with dignity. If he does all of that she’ll consider letting him live to see his next birthday. “Mother bids you drink this,” he said. He didn’t know what it was but he assumed it was for the baby. “She said it would help you feel better,” he said shrugging when you look at him in askance. You take it wordlessly and take a cautious sip before crinkling your nose slightly. Thor sits awkwardly on the edge of the bed and you scoot away from him slightly. The silence stretches on. Thor seems to prefer when you don’t speak in his presence so you restrict your remarks to short replies out of habit. “How do you like Asgard?” he asks after a moment. “It’s fine, the architecture is beautiful.” The only thing you can say that isn’t a lie. Thor glances at you, all these wonders and all you care about is buildings? “How are you feeling? Mother said you were unwell,” he tries again. “I’ll be fine, your highness,” you say, “I think I am only overtired.” You feel exhausted so it isn’t a lie. Thor doesn’t miss that you use his title or call him husband when you address him at all. He hates it and he’s pretty sure that’s why you do it. He’s right. “Conversations are easier to have when everyone contributes,” he huffs out, frustrated that you don’t seem to care if he’s speaking to you or not.

“Conversations are easier to have when you want to have them,” you reply, “Please, husband. It’s bad enough that I’m married to someone who is at best apathetic towards me. Don’t make me make small talk with you too.” Thor winces at that. You’re not wrong. His feelings towards you do tend towards apathetic these days. “Mother said you were lonely,” he said, “She said that was bad for the baby. That your emotions are making you sick.” You snort, “And forced small talk is the way to fix that, hm?” you ask bitterly. How fucking dare he force this on you? How dare he even pretend? After all the times he’s come home lips kiss swollen and reeking of Sif’s perfume. After all the times he’s barked at you as if you were an unruly soldier and not his wife. He reaches for your hand and you pull it away, “Don’t. touch. me.” you say warningly. You are tired and sad and all you want is sleep. Sleep is the only respite you get. Anger flashes in Thor’s face and you meet his eyes for the first time in days. When he sees that there is nothing there. Nothing. You face is blank as if you have nothing left to feel but pain, he moves away from you. “Fine,” he bites out. He leaves you then and you hurl the goblet and it’s contents at the wall as the door slams shut.

2024

“Where is my wife?” Thor asks Brunhilde as she orders herself another drink. The Valkyrie shrugs, “She left here about 10 minutes ago. Got on her motorcycle and just fucked off… She does that.” Thor pinched the bridge of his nose, “Where did she go?” Brunhilde shrugs again, “Probably the woods somewhere. I know she has a garden someplace where she grows the healing herbs we use. Loki probably knows where it is.” Thor nods and trudges off to find Loki. The trickster is similarly tight-lipped about where you’ve gone, “Thor, she doesn’t want to see you,” he said, “After so many years, I don’t blame her.” The blonde winces, “I want to make things right with her,” he said. Loki barked a laugh, “That implies you had a relationship with her before,” he said, “You never wanted her. You wanted Sif. And then Jane, but nowhere in any of that did you want your wife. She spent years hoping you’d come to at least value her… Mother. It broke Mother’s heart. And it was only that girl, the one you refused to pay attention to that kept us from war with the fey. If she had ever told them anything, they would have been honor bound to storm the palace and bring her home.”

Loki thrusts a small stack of leather-bound journals into Thor’s hands, “If you ever tell her I gave you these, I’ll deny it… She told me to burn them but I thought that if she were to ever kill herself, you should know what your part in it was.” Thor takes them carefully as if they might bite. Loki considered you a friend. One of his only friends and he didn’t take your mistreatment lightly. Not even coming from Thor whom he also loved. As Thor ambles away, Loki prays to the gods that this might just give you some peace. That it might help Thor foster an understanding of you. He also prays that if you ever find out he disobeyed your request that you wouldn’t be angry long.

Thor takes the journals back to his tower, ignoring Korg as he calls out to Thor to play more Fortnite. They are bound together with a piece of leather cord. About 8 or 10 slim volumes. Easily concealed in your jewelry box or any other small crevice in your room where you could secret them away. He’d seen you writing in books like this before. He assumed it was just a way for you to record your days. But they feel heavy. They hold the weight of sleepless nights and countless disappointments. The weight of a rebellion. The pressure of being where no one wanted you. They smell of pain and fear and hopelessness. He holds them for a long time. He knows this is intensely private. You’d asked Loki to burn them so no one else might ever see what you’d had to say. Carefully, with a prayer for forgiveness, he opens the first volume. 

Earlier

You stand in the crowd. Watching Thor be named Odin’s heir. At 20 weeks pregnant you’re starting to show and nothing you can do makes you happy about that fact. You’re too tired to keep yourself bespelled and have to force yourself into a calm smiling composure. You feel Sif glaring at you but you ignore her. The Warriors three are watching Thor. Sif is watching you, her stare would burn your skin from your bones if she had her way. Since Thor is forbidden to even speak with her, his ardor for her has seemingly cooled. And recently he’s been at the very least, less curt. It isn’t loving but at least with his hatred of you turned down to a simmer in front of the court, some of the whisperings have stopped. It’s small relief and you welcome it with the growing amount of stress the pregnancy puts on your body. 

The aftermath of the Frost Giant attack and Thor’s banishment leaves you again in Limbo. Though strangely, you don’t care that he’s gone. Loki promises you quietly that he won’t let you be hurt. That you’re safe with him on the throne. You apply yourself to supporting Frigga and tune out all the other court intrigues. The Queen is terrified for her husband who may never wake up. You hold her hand and do whatever she asks without question. 

Heimdall visits you often. He tells you Thor is safe. He tells you of things in Faery. Things that often don’t get put in letters. Little cousins losing teeth, jousts, and picnics. Things you miss so much your heart aches. Heimdall does not approve of the way Thor treats you but a prince will do as a prince will do. Heimdall is bound to protect the Bifrost and obey orders. He was ordered not to allow you to return home unaccompanied. He was not ordered not to tell you of home. Heimdall does not tell you of Jane. You do not ask. 

When Thor returns, a triumphant hero and Loki is gone, your heart shatters again. Loki was your friend. Your only friend in this place. His loss is one thing too many. The stress and strain cause you to lose the child. Frigga stays near you, holding your hand and directing the healers as they hurry to save your life. You’re in pain, half in and out of fever dreams crying for your mother, your cousins, your music tutor, any familiar anchor to this life. Never Thor. You don’t ask for him once. The small part of your brain that is still lucid tells you that even if you did call, he wouldn’t come. 

Thor sits with the warriors three, drinking. He misses Jane. His child is dead, and for all he knows you still might die. Loki is gone. Nothing is right. 

When Frigga is finally sure that you’re not going to die on her healing table, she has you put into a comfortable bed to rest and goes in search of her son. “Thor,” she says, standing in the door way, beckoning to him. He stands, staggering slightly, “Is she dead?” he asks hazily. Frigga itched to slap him, “No, thank the gods, she is not. She is alive. We only lost the child.” Thor nods, “What was it?” he asks, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “A girl,” Frigga answers softly. She hadn’t wanted to tell you when you asked. She didn’t want to cause you further distress but your pleading had torn her heart in two. Thor eases himself into a chair with a groan and Frigga puts a hand on his shoulder, “Y/N is asleep now. Resting. It will take her body some time to heal.” Thor nods, “Will she see me?” he asked. He felt responsible for your current state. His actions had lead to the stress that caused your pain. Frigga shook her head, “She won’t see anyone right now. I think Loki is the only one she’d admit to her room and he isn’t here.” Thor nods and sighs, “Perhaps… perhaps in a few days. When the pain isn’t so new,” Frigga says bracingly. She wants to be more sympathetic and she wants to punch him in the mouth. A mother always loves her children. That doesn’t mean she likes them.

Thor tries to be admitted to your room every day. Every day one of your ladies politely sends him away. For four days. He comes each day to talk to you. On the 5th day, when they let him inside the room, guilt gnaws at him. You’re still too thin and too pale. You look ill and tired. You look sad and scared. Then he reaches for your hand, you don’t pull away you let him hold it. Your skin is cold.

He doesn’t say anything. Not a word. Until the silence makes him uncomfortable. “We can try again,” he says.

You look up at him slowly, pulling your hand away from his like he shocked you. “Get out,” you say quietly. He starts to stammer out an apology but the tears are flowing and you’re louder, screaming at him, “Get out, get the fuck out!” The god scrambles backward. For all the times you’ve just taken his insults with a blank stare, he didn’t even know you could scream. He didn’t know you even had the lung capacity to do it. You sound like a banshee. Your sudden rage shakes him to his core and he just barely managed to get out of the way as you hurl a stone vase at the wall where he stands. It shatters on the floor and he ducks out the door. Your screams and heartbroken sobs still echoing in his ears. Frigga half shoves him out of the way and gathers you into her arms, rocking you gently. A week of silence and trying to accept things undone in a matter of a few moments. She says a prayer for patience and kisses your head, “Sweetheart,” she soothes, “It’s alright. Whatever he said, it’s okay. It’ll all be okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was the shock of everything.”

“I want to go home,” you say softly, “Please just let me go home.” Frigga gently settles you back in bed, pushing a potion to your lips to help you sleep, “As soon as I can sweetheart. We’ll send you for a visit.” She knows. She knows you mean forever. But that cannot be. Marriage vows are forever. And vows cannot simply be broken.

When Thor returns to Midgard, he will not take you. He forbids you to go. Leaves you on Asgard saying that it isn’t safe. He really doesn’t want you to see Loki this way. You’ve reached a fragile peace. Thor lets you do whatever you please, you don’t ask him about Jane. He dotes on you in front of his mother. He does not come to your bed at night. 

When he leads Loki back in chains, you and Frigga both plead with Odin to spare him. Odin listens only because he cannot bear to see either of you cry. 

When he returns to Midgard again, he doesn’t take you with him. Instead, he braves bringing back Jane. She’s in danger and he cannot just let her die. “Husband,” you say, aloof politeness in your voice, “Who is your friend?” You know who it is. You aren’t stupid. Thor can’t look at you and leads Jane away. Loki sees the tear tracks on your cheeks when you bring him books and smiles sadly, “Little sister,” he says gently, “why do you let him do this to you?” You sigh, “Because. I’m a fucking idiot and some small, broken piece of my heart is still waiting for my fairy tale. I didn’t choose him but he’s my only chance.”

Loki wants to reach out and wipe your tear away. Instead, he tries to make you laugh, anything to quell the pain for a moment. He does. You laugh. It’s a rare sound these days but it reminds him of the comfort he felt in your mother’s court. Reminds him of the Fairy Princess who rode horseback with no saddle and wove spells that gave him chills to watch the artistry. His friend. The only person who had never commented on how cold his skin felt to the touch. The one person who liked him because of who he was, not just that he was a princeling. 

With Frigga’s death, you push your own pain aside to hold your husband and brother in law together. You pray she taught you enough. That you learned enough. And you try not to blame the Mortal girl who had brought her end. 

The Third time he goes to Midgard, you force him to take you. You tell him that you don’t even want to meet his Earth friends. You just want to go home. You just want to eat food that doesn’t repulse you and hug your mother. Thor has no choice. But when you get there, you don’t get to go Home. Thor needs to be protected. Mostly from himself.

So you stay at his side. You can see the awkward flurry of emotions as he introduces you as his wife. The questions. When they ask what planet you’re from, it is immensely satisfying to say “Connecticut” and watch it process through. When you pick up a sword and dress for a fight, Thor looks at you side ways, “I didn’t know you knew how to fight,” he says quietly. Not without Tony hearing. You shrug, “You never asked. I am a princess of Faery. I was taught to protect my house.”

“Nice one, Pointbreak,” Tony said, slapping his shoulder, “How long have you been married? Two minutes?” Thor has the grace to look embarrassed, “Three years,” he says.

“Very nice,” he said. He was idly admiring your body in your fighting gear. It was not of Asgard. Fitted close. Made for speed and stealth. “She’s gorgeous,” Bruce says, “You’re lucky.” Thor makes a noncommittal noise and folds his arms. He’d learned long ago that he might be the only man in a room that didn’t find you beautiful. But you weren’t unfortunate, he supposed. Tony and Bruce trade looks but say nothing. You talk with Steve and Natasha, getting a feel for them. Barton gives Thor a thumbs up and mimes a soft whistle. Fey have that effect on humans, he supposes. He wonders if you’re aware of it. You don’t seem to be. 

You hold your own in battle. You’re quick and fierce, darting hither and yon with feet so fast that he often only sees the back of you as you rush forward. He vaguely recognizes that you probably could, in fact, kill him if you wanted to. And he’s impressed. After the battle he goes to pull you to him and you freeze, “Please don’t touch me,” you say quietly. You want to imagine that this might be love. But it’s only the heat of battle and you’re the closest available woman. You can’t. You just can’t deal with him rutting away on top of you pretending you’re anyone else. 

When you return to Asgard, Thor is slightly kinder. He bothers to offer you his arm and ask you how your day is. It softens you towards him a little. You go back to trying to be a good wife. Doing little things he doesn’t notice to ease his way. 

It’s all fine. Until Ragnarok. Until Thor and Loki are both gone doing gods only know what. Until you start the rebellion. Until you lead the people. 

But after Thanos. You’re back to square one. Thor hates you. He hates everything about you. And you have no choice. As he slides into the dark. Into a depressive spiral, you lead. You and Brunhilde and Loki. You run New Asgard and they carry out your wishes. You integrate the Asgardians with Midgard. You set up schools and healers and libraries. You make them a comfortable place to be in the world. They love you for it. The whispers stop. You are Queen. You are her Majesty. Aided and abetted by Loki deferring to you and no one else. Not even Thor who in his drunken state cannot even rule a teapot.

Thor roars at you. He orders you from his tower and you tell him to sit the fuck down and eat the meal you brought. You clean as best you can. You’re a solid, stable presence, even though he doesn’t want you. Even though he leaves you cold and lonely. When the Avengers show up, you bring them to him. Quietly watching. Not drawing attention to yourself. He scurries off when the Raccoon mentions beer. Banner looks at you with pity on his face and you shrug. You stopped feeling long before now. A decade of his apathy has worn you down to numb. 

After the Second snap, you scramble to house the people. Thor is the hero while you struggle to manage the influx. 11 years. Married 11 years with no children. Married 11 years and for most of that, your husband has loved someone else. All you know is work. All you know is that you are Queen and Queens suffer silently. 

2024

Thor sits on his bed in the tower. Surrounded by pages of your private writings. His heart is broken. He wants to find you and kiss you and tell you that he’s sorry. He knows it isn’t enough. He found suicide notes you started so many times in the depths of your pain. He saw the notes from the rebellion. The entries after you lost the child. Your agony at not being anything he wanted. 

He thinks of how long it’s been since he’s seen you. Since he’s been close enough to touch you. You’re still young and fresh, forever 22. But your hands are work calloused and your eyes are older. He thinks of the sound of your laugh and how he hated it. How he misses it now when he can’t hear you playing with the Asgardian children in the street. He wipes tears away and gathers up the pages carefully. He doesn’t deserve you. He never did. 

But his parents were right. He had needed you. More than you will ever need him. The times when you needed him are passed, he knows and he wasn’t there to catch you. He hides the journals away and watches out the kitchen window. There’s a pack of Children marching, laughing down the street. 

The Children. He smacks his forehead gently. If you were anything like his mother, the Children of Asgard would always know how to find you. They were always the best way to find Frigga in a hurry. 

Thor pulls on his jacket and simply follows them. Sure enough, they lead him straight to you. You’re sitting on some cliffs, idly scribbling in a notebook and munching on your lunch. It was supposed to be a break from it all but when the Children find you, giggling and running at you, you laugh. “Oh no, I’ve been found,” you say, picking them up to cuddle the little ones, “Wherever will I eat my lunch now.” They want a story and they’ll not be dissuaded. So you tell them. You spin out a tale easily and send them all away chattering and acting things out. Thor keeps his distance. You’re happy. And you’re not bespelled. He honestly can’t remember the last time he saw that.

When the last of the children have scampered out of earshot, he approaches. “Y/N,” he says softly. You don’t turn to look at him, “Your majesty,” you reply, “How can I help you?” He winces at the formal tone of your voice. “I need to speak with you,” he said. You check your watch, “It will have to wait. I have a budget meeting in a few minutes.” You pack your lunch away uneaten and stand, going to walk past him. He catches your wrist and squeezes gently, “Please,” he said. There’s a tricky little maneuver and your wrist is easily out of his grasp as you walk forward. “Do you hate me then?” he asks after you. 

You turn slightly to look at him, “No, husband. That would require me to feel anything for you at all.” You walk away from him, headed back towards the town. Leaving him on the windswept cliffs alone.


	5. Chapter 5

Thor watches you go. He wants to run after you. He wants to scoop you up and hold you to him. He wants to apologize. But he’s frozen to the spot. Your parting words echo in his mind. 

You feel nothing for him. 

The god takes a seat on the rocks. He wishes he could say he didn’t deserve that. But he did. He’d read your diaries. Every hurt. Every wound laid bare. He feels almost as if he violated some trust with you but… so far as you knew, Loki had burned those diaries. He sat, watching the waves and replaying the conversations in his head. He felt tired. He felt like you had just been punching him in the gut for the last few hours. 

As the sun dips lower in the sky, he wanders back towards town. He wonders where you might be. At least until he hears your laugh. He walks into the pub and most of the drinkers pay him no mind. You, Brunhilde and Loki are at a table in the back talking. You have a pint of cold sweet cider, Loki has wine, Brunhilde has a tankard of ale. He approaches slowly and pulls up a chair. “Careful, Loki” Brunhilde cautions Loki at the tail end of a joke Thor hadn’t heard, “Her Majesty is back on her bullshit today.” You laugh and take a sip of your pint, “That implies I was ever off my bullshit to start with.” 

Loki rolls his eyes but signals for Thor to be given a drink and offers him a smile. “How was your meeting, Y/N?” he tries. “I only wanted to run away and join the circus 3 or 4 times… That’s progress,” you say with a shrug. The Valkyrie snorts and kisses your cheek fondly, “That is progress. Usually, your brain shorts out in the first few minutes and you spend the rest of the meeting trying to come back online.” Thor sips his drink and watches. This is the easiest he’s ever seen you. You are relaxed and content. You’re with friends. The easy camaraderie the three of you share makes his chest ache. 

He doesn’t know how it began but he feels left out. Loki has an arm around your shoulder easily and Brunhilde is leaned against your other side. They seem to know when you need to be touched. That you need to be touched and they’ve gotten used to doing it casually. Thor feels jealousy he knows he isn’t entitled to. You’re his wife but he doesn’t know you. He hardly knows anything about you really. All he can see now is the pain you hid from him and your longing for a happy ending that you’ve apparently given up on. 

That night as you and Brunhilde walk ahead, arm in arm, laughing at some private joke, Thor lags behind with Loki. “I read her journals,” he murmurs. Loki nods, “They’re enlightening,” he says, “I couldn’t look at her for a few days after… Did you really say those things to her? After she lost the baby?”

Thor hangs his head, “I did,” he said, “I had thought I was helping.” Loki smacked him stiffly in the back of the head, “Did mother teach you nothing?” he asked harshly. Thor rubbed the now sore spot on the back of his skull, “I know,” he huffed out frustrated, “I’ve been replaying every second of the last 11 years in my head and I hate myself for it.” Loki snorted, “But the million dollar question is, does Y/N hate you?” Thor watched you, laughing in the chilly air as Brunhilde spun you and dipped you backward before gently setting you on your feet. “She feels nothing for me, at least that’s what she said.” Loki watches you, smiling sadly, “I would try and tell you that that isn’t true but Y/N cannot lie.”

Loki catches up to you, leaving Thor to think. Leaving him to deal with the consequences of hurting you. You don’t go with Thor to the tower. You don’t sleep there. You never have. You have a cottage with copper dishes and a pretty garden. It sits on a hill a little away from town. In your yard there is a massive oak tree and a swing hangs from a limb. A silent memorial to the child you lost. In the morning, when Thor stands at the gate listening to the sounds of you making yourself breakfast and singing to the radio he wonders what life would have been for him if he hadn’t spent so long being angry at you. 

He hasn’t slept and he needs to talk to you. Really talk. Or rather, he needs to listen to you talk. He needs you to tell him what you’re doing with New Asgard. How you and Valkyrie and Loki came to have color coordinated motorcycles. Why after all this time you haven’t just left him. And he needs to thank you for what you did for his people. Even those that had openly laughed at your humiliation as he dallied with Sif and then with Jane. 

He trudges up the walk feeling like shit. He hopes you punch him in the mouth. He deserves it. As he knocks on the door, he’s too aware of his body. He can’t rely on his looks to save him, even when he was chiseled your heart never fluttered. He’s gathered from re-reading your journals that you need an emotional connection to the people around you before you can have a physical attraction. Something he repeatedly denied you. You open the door, looking irritated, “Yes, your majesty?” you ask, “Is there something I can do for you?” 

Thor nods, his mouth dry. In the sunrise, your hair a mess of tangled curls and still clad in your pajama bottoms and a tank top, something about you is… beautiful. You tap your foot, impatiently waiting for him to speak. “I… I need to talk to you,” he said finally. You step back, allowing him admittance to your house. It’s comfortable. Squishy armchairs and books. A small fire in the hearth to keep off the morning chill. Dinner starting to cook in the crockpot for later. 

You gesture for him to have a seat but don’t take one yourself. You give him coffee and turn to fix yourself tea, “What have I done wrong now, husband?” you ask. Thor winces. Many times in the last 5 years he’s been here to rail at you. “I want… I just want to say thank you,” he blurts out. “You took care of Asgard while I wallowed in self-pity. You fed, clothed, and housed everyone. Even the ones that mocked you.” You sip your coffee and shrugged, “For good or for ill, it is my duty. I am a queen.” Thor sips the hot drink and looks up at you. You look so confident. And impatient. And impossibly beautiful. Glowing like the flame of a candle. You know he isn’t done and you need him to stop staring at you like a jackass and get on with it. 

“Y/N,” he started, looking down at his hands. In 11 years of marriage, you’ve never looked at him directly for so long and he feels like your eyes are piercing his soul. “I want… I want you. I want to give you and me a chance.”

You quirk an eyebrow, “Can’t find anyone else to fuck, husband?” Thor winces, “I deserved that,” he says quietly. You say nothing. “I spent years hating you for something that wasn’t your doing. I hated you just because you existed. I was trying to spite my father and all I did was hurt you.” You shrug, “They told me to marry you. So I did. I was loyal. I was faithful. And you repaid me with vitriol and by fucking at least two other women.”

Your posture is casual but your tone is not. You’re building up a head of steam now. “ONE OF THEM ONE WEEK AFTER I LOST YOUR CHILD. THE OTHER THE NIGHT OF OUR FUCKING BETROTHAL. AND WORSE THAN THAT YOU LET ME BE MOCKED FOR IT. YOU DIDN’T EVEN BOTHER TO HIDE IT FROM YOUR MOTHER. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU AND YOUR “I WANT TO GIVE US A TRY” YOU FUCKING CUNT. I SUFFERED FOR YEARS AT YOUR INDIFFERENCE AND NOW THAT YOU CAN’T RELY ON LOOKS AND BRAVADO YOU WANT ME TO BE THE DUTIFUL WIFE AND HAND YOU EVERY SHATTERED PIECE OF MY HEART SO YOU CAN GRIND THEM INTO SAND.” You’re panting and out of breath, daring Thor to speak silently. You dare him to deny anything. He doesn’t. He hangs his head and it’s only after you set your mug down to resist the urge to throw it at him that he looks up. 

“Get. the. fuck. out.” you grind out, “I have your kingdom to run.” Thor doesn’t need telling twice. He saw you fight with Hela. He knows you can pack a vicious punch and he has no desire to feel it first hand. As he retreats, he plans.


	6. Chapter 6

The Valkyrie passes thor on the way to your house. She says nothing but he can feel her disapproval. Brunhilde may be a Valkyrie loyal to Asgard but clearly, the loyalty she has for its king is being sorely tested. 

She nods at him in acknowledgment before moving on, letting herself into your house. Thor trudges on. He wonders how to even start mending things. He remembers the nights beside you in the big bed. All the nights when you were first married that you almost looked like you wanted to reach for him. So desperate to be touched in any meaningful way that you’d stoop to wanting him. All the times your efforts at being a good wife were met with a disinterested stare and not so much as a thank you as a pined for women he didn’t belong to.

He almost wants to find his past self and hit him in the face. He missed Sif. They’d been hand in hand for centuries. But Sif wasn’t his. His refusal to let her go, to break his own heart to stay faithful, had denied all three of you the love you deserved. Back in his tower, Thor fixes himself toast. Thinking. The kitchen was where you always stayed on the occassions you tried to help him. You cooked for him. Meals that somehow tasted like Asgard. You cleaned. You made him take walks. You refused to let him live in utter filth. Your voice rang in his ears. Steady and calm. Pointing his way out of the dark if only he’d take your hand. You’d kept him alive. On life support but breathing. He literally owed you his life. Even after everything. He wanted to believe that that meant you felt something for him but… He knew better. It was compassion. Decency. Everything he had denied you for a decade unless his parents guilted him into it. 

Brunhilde watches you stir your coffee. You look calm. As if you hadn’t just screamed at your husband so loudly she and Loki had both heard you even if they couldn’t make out the words, “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, helping herself to a muffin. You shake your head, “No, I really don’t. It’s nothing you or Loki can help me with. I have a feeling his majesty is about to make my life infinitly more complicated than I like it.”

The Valkyrie looks at you, cocking her head to the side, she just noticed something, “Why do you never call Thor by name?” she asks, “Even in private.”

You shrug, “He really fucking hates it that I don’t. It started as a quiet rebellion and just became a habit. I don’t even call him by name in my head.”

She nods. She doesn’t understand Thor’s treatment of you, anymore than she understands your mostly calm response to him even at his most terrible when he’d been pickling himself for 5 years. He’d said terrible things to you and the worst thing she ever saw you do was throw ice water in his face as he stood railing at you in your kitchen. And that had been once when he’d been yelling at you about not doing your duty for the succession. You’re sipping coffee as she munches on breakfast, each lost in thought.

“Do you wanna go out tonight?” you ask, “I need a break.” The Valkyrie smiles, “Call your cousins?” she asks. You grin and it’s like the sun coming out, “You get Loki?” And it’s settled. Tonight you’re going out. 

Thor watches from his tower. You’re dressed to go out. Short dress, heels, hair, makeup. The works. You don’t look like a Queen, you look like an ordinary woman. Arm in arm with Loki and one of your cousins, laughing and getting into a waiting car. Thor looks back to his videogame and grumbles. No one had even invited him. It stung. He wanted a chance. He wanted to do what he should have done long ago if he had been smart enough or kind enough to push his pride away. 

He puts his controller down and goes to his room. He doesn’t have much of a wardrobe but he pulls on a red shirt and a pair of jeans. It doesn’t make him fit for your presence but it does make him fit to go out. It doesn’t take long for his phone to ping. Selfies. The location tags tell him where to go. You pout at the camera prettily and then there’s a bubble gum bubble and your eyes are crossed. Filters everwhere. Loki with bunny ears caught in the background. 

He goes. He needs to know. He needs to know you. Who had you become when he was coming apart?” It doesn’t take long to find you. The 5 of you have a table and it’s attracting admirerers like flies. Men, very pretty men are flattering you and you’re polite but guarded. You drink with your friends, you dance, you laugh, but you’re careful not to be too friendly with any of the men you dance with. Hands don’t wander and you don’t invite further attentions. That, in a weird way, hurts. Even though you feel nothing, you’re faithful to the vows you made. 

When you’re at the bar, Thor follows you. He doesn’t touch you. He doesn’t even try. He just leans against the wood and waits. You know he’s there. The song that’s playing may keep you from hearing him but you know

Hello/  
Wherever you are/  
Are you dancin’ on the dance floor or drinking by the bar?/  
Tonight we do it big/  
We’re shining like stars/  
We don’t give a fuck ‘cuz that’s just who we are.

You turn slowly, “Your majesty?” you ask. Thor wants to kiss you. To give you the kiss he should have given you years ago but he knows better. Instead he holds out a hand, “Dance with me?” he tries. You sip your drink, giving him a measured look. Pointedly not responding right away. Your face betrays nothing. 

“I’m not Sif,” you say calmly. He nods, “I know,” he said. “I never will be. And I’m not Jane either.” Thor nods, his hand starting to tremble. Loki is watching, honestly proud of your poker face. You may be angry and scared and confused but your face betrays nothing. It’s only your hands that tell on you. Gripping your glass tightly to keep them from shaking. Your Cousins are ready to cut your husband’s tongue from his head. And other things from his body. 

It’s a slow song playing by the time you finish your drink and take his hand. He’s not trying. Not really. And you don’t really feel anything for him, but he looks uncertain and scared. He looks like it might actually break his heart if you turn him away. Once, you might have done it just for revenge. But now? You just can’t do it. You let him lead you on the floor.

It’s awkward and uncomfortable. You keep your distance physically and emotionally. 11 years ago you would have killed for him to even try and hold you. You would have wanted him to look at you with gentleness and longing. Now you’re torn between wanting to punch him and wanting to laugh at the absurdity of it. “Talk to me?” he asks. “What do you want me to say?” you ask, arching an eyebrow. “Anything,” he says. “And what if I have nothing to say to you?” you ask.

“Then I’ll try again tomorrow,” Thor says calmly, brushing an unruly curl out of your eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

Thor watches, glaring at the man who’s singing to you. It’s a party in New Asgard, celebrating the solstice and celebrating prosperity. Things are improving all the time and it’s largely due to you. There is a Fey man singing to you and Thor is quietly furious. 

He had approached the table where you sat in your place at his side, dressed in your full court regalia. Dressed as a queen of Faery. He had asked Thor’s permission to play you a song. And he did. A love song. He all but pldged his devotion to you. He spewed his best courtly language and praised everything about you. The color of your eyes, the warmth of your smile, your tiny feet, your work-roughened hands, the crinkle of your nose… It’s flattery and pretty and it makes Thor want to murder the man. You’re smiling at him, the barest pleasant smile. 

You have eyes like a cat. Hard to read and always slightly cynical. Once, you were doe-eyed and dewy. Thor could read you in the early days of your marriage. He could understand every microexpression. Every hurt. Every small happiness. It made him angry. He knew when he hurt you but now… He was lucky if he would understand the smallest change in expression. He hates that he can’t tell if your smile is merely polite or if this man is genuinely stirring a feeling in your chest. You smile and offer the man a toast gently, raising your goblet. Thor watches as the man practically swoons and looks at you for your reaction. 

“Y/N.” he says, “What was that?” You shrug carelessly, “Drek or no, he did mean it kindly.” Thor reaches for your hand and you allow it but you turn your eyes back to the dancers dancing. There’s affection on your face. Thor feels a note of pride in himself. 

He’d been trying. He’d been wiggling his way into your good graces. Kind of. You had a wall built around the last fragile piece of your heart he hadn’t broken and you guarded it more fiercely than a dragon with a hoard. He tried.

It was a struggle just to get anything you needed him to do for you/ You’d gotten used to being broken and limping on. You had put yourself back together without his help and you ran his kingdom without him. It was never more apparent to him than when he actually began to participate in the running of the kingdom. He had been late and there had to be an obvious reshuffle at the table. Loki was at the head of the table, where it was his right to be when Thor was not present. You sat at his right hand and Brunhilde to his left. When Thor entered every head turned and you stopped speaking. It was obvious from Loki’s posture that he might be at the head of the table but you are the power in the room. You knew Midgard. For centuries Faery had successfully existed parallel to humans. You had integrated and adapted as Asgard now must. You knew how and 5 years into the process with the second snap, you had to integrate even more people and it took effort to make it work. The shuffle pauses the entirety of the meeting and you look around Thor to look at Loki. Loki nods slightly, gesturing for you to continue. “Brother,” Loki says silkily, “Your Queen was just explaining to us how she plans to rebuild libraries for the use of the people. And how she plans to build more updated housing.”

Thor nods, “I see,” he says stiffly, uncomfortable with the stares and uncomfortable coming face to face with your calm cat eyes. “Please, continue,” he said taking a sip of water. “As you wish, your majesty,” You say, clearing your throat and continuing on, largely ignoring Thor’s presence and laying out well-reasoned plans. He hears Frigga in your voice. Gentle but not yielding. That stings but knowing now how hard-won your confidence is, it makes him want to reach for you. You allow him to take your hand only because you are very much in public. It’s not much, but it’s a start. 

Thor tries. He spends most of the meeting distracted by your hands. The feel of them. He remembered the feel of them on his face as he lay nearly senseless and groaning in his bed. Lost in nightmares and pain. Warm soft hands that roughened with every netcast and every sink fixed. Hands that had fed him when his hands shook too hard to hold a spoon. He remembers your voice. Like it is now. Steady and calm. You were an immovable object against the unstoppable force of the depression and pain that ravaged his mind. He retains almost nothing of what you say but he agrees with everything. He won’t railroad you now. Not after you worked so hard to win the respect of his people. 

After that day, he starts participating. He does things. Simple things. Cups of coffee when it’s 5pm and you still have things the check off your list. Opening your door for you. Tiny bundles of wildflowers left on your desk in the front room of your cottage that you use as a study. Wrapping his jacket around your shoulders when the chill off the water makes you shiver. He does for you what he should have done when you were scared and friendless in the halls of his father. It makes him crazy not knowing how you feel about it. Loki says nothing and Brunhilde says less. They seem to have decided not to help him.

He can’t really blame them. Brunhilde had not even known he had a wife until Banner asked if he was worried about you. Thor had lied. He’d said that he was. The truth was he had never really given you much thought. Not until he saw you on the bridge, sword in hand standing with Heimdall. Leading his people. 

He felt a small sliver of affection for you then. You had proved you could be of use at least. That night aboard the ship, you hadn’t resisted when he brought you to bed but your lack of enthusiasm had left him cold. He had simply finished and left you to sleep trying not to touch him. And Loki, well. Loki had been there. He had seen you before Thor and his stupid pride had broken you. 

As he watches you now, your hand warm in his. He wants you to smile at him. He wants you to fall into his arms willingly. He just… he doesn’t know how to make that happen. He doesn’t know what kind of man you want him to be but he sorely hopes that it isn’t like that stupid bard. The man hadn’t done justice to you at all. Not really. If he had, he would have spent more time extolling the virtues of your heart. Stubborn and full of infinite compassion.


	8. Chapter 8

It was raining in New Asgard. It was raining and neither Loki not Brunhilde could or would tell Thor where you had gone. You weren’t in meetings. On the dock. In the pub. With the children. It was as if you had disappeared. And no one acted like anything was wrong.

Thor had gotten used to you being there. A solid steady presence. A guiding star. When you were gone, it was uncomfortable. People looked to him to make decisions and he genuinely had no confidence in anything he said. He tried to make the calls you would make but in the end, Loki or Brunhilde would make a suggestion and Thor would follow it. He trusted them to know what you were going to want done about any given thing. Loki and Brunhilde are both cagey about your whereabouts and it stings. It’s like they’re protecting you from him.

He didn’t blame them but… he was trying. You had even let him come to your cottage for dinner, though you still refused to let Korg or Mik anywhere near your house for any reason. They made your head hurt. 

As the sun set, Thor looked towards your cottage. The hearth was cold and there was no smoke coming from the chimney. The lights were off but for the soft glow of an electronic device. So, he thought, you were home. He slipped away and made his way to your cottage. It was unusual for you to not be out and about. When he knocked on the door, it took so long for you to come to the door he thought you might be asleep. But when you did open the door, you looked pale and you looked like you’d been crying, recently. “Your majesty,” you say, wiping your nose on your sleeve carelessly, “How can I help you?” He winced internally. You still never called him by name. Despite the state of you, you folded your arms and looked up at him. “I missed you today,” Thor managed after a beat, “I’ve gotten used to trailing after you.”

“Well, I’m still alive,” you say with a sigh, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” You start to shut the door and the god puts his foot in the way quickly. “Y/N,” he said softly, “Why were you crying?” He pushes past you gently, careful not to knock you off your feet. Inside the house is cold and there’s a stack of movies and a cup of tea on your coffee table. You wrap your arms around yourself and Thor carefully tilts your chin up, rubbing the tear tracks on your cheek with his thumb, “Talk to me?” You shake your head, “I don’t want to,” you say simply. It hurts. Thor cringes. It was going to take a long time to undo what he did. But, he noted. You were letting him touch you. Unless you were very much in public you tended to avoid him touching you for any reason. 

He nods and his heart breaks a little when you pull away from the hand that’s touching your cheek, “You’re hurt,” he says quietly, “let me help? Please? The gods only know how many times I hurt you myself. Let me stay?” 

You’re touch-starved and vulnerable. Tired and heartsore today. You realized this morning that you could have had an almost 12-year-old if things had been different. It’s not every day but sometimes the pain of that loss hits you so hard that all you can do is curl around the pain and hug it until it fades. You can’t talk about it with Thor. You can’t. You just want to him to go away. But you know that being alone is not a good idea. Loki had been slipping away to check on you periodically and you had pretended to be asleep. This though, this was the worst of two choices. Being alone or with Thor. He made you tired. He was “trying” in every sense of the word. You knew you couldn’t just ignore or rebuff him forever. Forever was a long time and this was your spouse. You were bound to him whether you wanted it or not. You walk away from him, curling up back on the sofa in your nest of blankets. “You can stay if you don’t talk,” you say. A worthy compromise. He could be a warm body and just not speak. 

Thor frowned and watched you curl up, hiding in a pile of blankets. He sat at the opposite end of the couch and you pushed play on your film again. It was a musical, and funny but tears were running silently down your cheeks. You weren’t here. Not really. You’d been dragged back into some dark corner of your mind where you stored all the hurts you didn’t have the time to deal with. He watched, heart twisting viciously in his chest. Oh, he thought feeling guilty for intruding but not guilty enough to not scoop you up, blankets and all and put you on his lap.

He rocked you gently, wrapping his arms around you. He doesn’t say a word he just pulls you close and prays that you let him do it. For a minute, until your need to be held wins out, the tension in your body is intense. Never, in all these years has Thor held you like this. Never, no matter how scared or hurt you were. And that only makes you cry harder. 

Thor rested his cheek against your hair gently and restrained his need to talk. He wanted to tell you it would be okay but he knows you well enough to know that that would sound too much like he was lying to you again. He wants to cover you in kisses and endearments until you fall asleep comfortably. Instead, you crash into an exhausted sleep against his shoulder. Fitful and full of nightmares. Thor doesn’t let you go. He rearranges you carefully to let you lay against him, cradling you to him and relishing in the feel of you.

He’d spent so long pretending you were another woman when he was between your thighs he never noticed how small you are. How light you feel despite how solid and sturdy you are. Like an owl. You’re so soft and so strong. Your hair feels like individual strands of silk. Gods, he thought, I’m not worthy of this woman. He wondered how many nights you’d spent crying and sleepless, while he’d been neglecting you and the thoughts of you in his tower, painstakingly tending to him spring unbidden. He can’t help it, he kisses your head and whispers, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” You don’t stir really, but in your sleep your fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt as if you’re asking him to stay.


	9. Chapter 9

In the morning Loki and Brunhilde wound their way up the hill to your cottage. They weren’t sure if they were going to have to help you hide a body or not. Loki had come to check on you and had peered through a window to see Thor looking deep in thought on one end of the sofa and you on the other looking like you were on the verge of a complete mental break. But he couldn’t make himself walk into the house. You didn’t like having an audience when you’re breaking apart. The fewer people in that house the better. He just hopes Thor knows what he’s doing, given that he caused most of the pain that caused the breaking.

They quietly planned how to deal with this on the path, “What if they fucked?” Brunhilde asked, “Like what if he managed to fix it.” Loki looked towards the house and shook his head, “I don’t think Thor is going to be able to fix it just by fucking her brains out.”

He quickly and quietly explained everything that had happened before. He left out some details. The child you had lost and your journals, things that felt too private to share. But he told her all the rest. The pain you’d borne because of your husband’s foolish pride. The Valkyrie listened quietly. She hadn’t known all of that. She figured your marital problems were more a clash of personality and a symptom of an arranged marriage. You’d never told her anything otherwise. The other woman suddenly felt like the world’s biggest bitch for thinking you were insecure when you were awkward around her at first. Brunhilde had no interest in Thor that way but, it wouldn’t have been the first time Thor had brought home a lover and just trailed them in front of you. “Fucking hell,” she breathed, “How has she not just killed him?” Loki chuckled darkly, “For the love she had for our mother because this is her duty, because; as she told me once years ago, she’s still holding out for a fairy tale. And this is her only chance.”

“Don’t tell her I told you all this,” Loki said quietly, “I think, if any of new Asgard bothered to think about it now, Thor would have an open rebellion on his hands and with the Wakandans coming to discuss trade, we can’t afford that. Not after her majesty has worked so hard.” 

Brunhilde nodded, “Of course not,” she said, “If she wanted me to know she’d have told me.” She looked towards your cozy little house, thinking of all the times she’s come to check on you, all the times you literally flinched away from Thor touching you, all the vile things she’s heard Thor say to you in the depths of his grief, and she feels angry. You are his queen. He should have cast all the others aside and protected you. Loki gave her hand a squeeze. He knew that pain. He had watched it all happen in real time. 

He had been the one person you could even try to put feelings into words with and even then, you were forbidden by hospitality from saying too much. 

So, when Thor walked out of your house, intact but sleepy and looking content, neither Brunhilde or Loki no what to say. Thor had spent the night giving you tea and holding you to him. From the shocked looks on his friend’s faces, he assumed they had expected to be hiding a body this morning. “Good morning,” he said yawning, stretching. His shirt riding up to show a sliver of his belly. 

“Good morning,” Loki said cautiously, “How is her majesty? Any better this morning.” Thor paused, tugging his shirt back down and sighed, “Functional, I think,” he said, “But I’m hardly an authority on knowing how to read her.” The Valkyrie snorted and looked away. She wanted to punch him. Thor had the grace to look ashamed of himself, “I-” he started but the other woman pushed past him and let herself into the house. Whatever he wanted to say, she was in no mood to hear it. 

Thor cocked his head at Loki, trying to decide if this was something he should be mad about. “She wanted to know if we were about to walk in on you having sex,” Loki said holding his hands up, “She needed to know so she didn’t try and joke about it with Y/N.” Thor felt his cheeks color. There was some comfort in the fact that you hadn’t really wanted to have sex with him before either. At least, despite how much his body had changed, that was still the same. He nodded, half listening to you talking with Brunhilde. Your voice was calm but the Valkyrie was careful, mindful of your still tender heart. He turned back slightly and she’d pulled you into a hug and appeared to be trying to squeeze the life out of you but then she murmured something and you laughed as she wiped a tear away with her thumb. The King felt a pang of longing. He wished he could coax a laugh out of you that easily. But whenever he was near, your laugh was seldom heard. You knew how much he hated it and tended to try not to just for the sake of whatever fragile peace you may have been able to reach. 

Loki grips his shoulder bracingly for a moment and lets himself in as well, helping himself to coffee and a pastry from the basket on your table. They were so at ease in your house, Thor thought, as he went back to his tower. But then, your house was made for comfort. You’d made it to be that way. Thor had scoffed at the time when you moved out of the tower he had claimed as his own, driven out by his behavior. But now, seeing the ease with which Asgardians came to your door, for food, for a chat, for advice… It made sense. Removed enough to give you peace and near enough that you can be seen. 

This mornings breakfast and chat, Loki and Brunhilde are in fine fettle. They have you laughing and groaning at their antics by turns. It’s like they’re reassuring themselves as much as you. In private, Loki will kiss your head or squeeze your hands. And he does both several times. Brunhilde is less cautious of her affections. She’d pull you off your feet into a hug in a heartbeat. But then, if you were shagging the Valkyrie on the side it wouldn’t mess up the succession to the throne. 

By the time you’re dressed and out and about, any evidence of yesterday erased after a hot shower and a decent meal, New Asgard is awake and humming with activity. There is a visiting King coming today and they must be welcomed properly. You take the reins and supervise with expert precision. Everything in place easily for the feast when they arrive this evening. T’challa is an ally and a friend of your husband’s. Trade can be discussed after food and rest. He’s traveling far. Thor does whatever you ask, whatever heavy lifting you need him to do. He wants to ask how you’re feeling but as you sip coffee and execute a series of frankly fascinating movements with your feet to return a stray ball to a gang of very rowdy and now very impressed boys, he just wants to kiss you. Or find the nearest soft bed to lay you on and part your thighs.

This is your element. You are a queen even if you never wanted to be. 

When the Wakandans do arrive in the late afternoon, you’re at Thor’s side properly. He takes your hand and squeezes and you allow it. Your hand is so small compared to his. T’challa and his guard are greeted warmly and he greets you with a smile that makes your heart flip a little. You keep your social smile in place but Loki doesn’t miss the flash of something else, however small. 

He jolts internally. You had had to plan this yourself. You had had to talk to T’challa. A lot. Even if it was just social and polite, he’d been kind. Solicitous. Even a little sweet. Such a contrast to how you were usually spoken to when Thor had first met you. He could kick himself. You might be a queen but you were still a woman and you’d spent a long time mistreated. The trickster sighed, this was going to be a fiasco if you couldn’t hold yourself together. 

Thor is mostly oblivious. Mostly. He doesn’t miss the flush on your cheeks when T’challa sweeps you onto the dancefloor. And he doesn’t miss that most of the trade talks are mostly between the two of you.

It isn’t until the third day that he starts to feel uneasy. You’re in the meeting house, cutting up vegetables for the after-school program and assembling other snacks to distribute. Your other helpers having gone to get the gardens in good repair for planting. Thor watches from the door. You’re so easy around him. He says things that make you laugh and when his hand brushes yours, you blush. It’s the softest shade of pink spilling across your cheeks. It makes Thor feel like falling through the floor. He’s never made your cheeks color. Not like that. 

Not with his cold clinical touches and rough words. The Wakandan King keeps a respectful distance of you and you make it a point to also keep things professional but Thor can’t fight the feeling that the last little piece of your heart, so cautiously guarded, might already be lost to him.

T’challa excuses himself to go confer with his advisors, clasping Thor’s hand on the way out, “I can only hope that one day, I will find a queen as wise and beautiful as yours,” he says glancing back to where you’re working, “This trade deal is a work of genius and I think it will benefit us both greatly.” Thor nodded, “She is very clever, I thank the gods for my parent’s wisdom in choosing her for me.” T’challa smiled and walked out of the hall, leaving the two of you alone. 

The blush still hasn’t faded from your cheeks and Thor feels a pang as he walks towards the table. “Y/N,” he says gently. He can’t even be angry at you for it really. You aren’t being inappropriate. In fact, you’re behaving with dignity and grace. There are no whispered words that aren’t quiet jokes. There are no secret meetings. All your business is conducted in the open. The way Thor should have behaved. 

“Yes, husband?” you reply putting cut carrots in a snack box but not looking up. Thor gently takes the knife from your hands and tips your face up, cradling it in his massive hands. “Thank you,” he says, brushing a careful kiss against your lips. You arch an eyebrow and Thor smiles, “for always treating me with more respect than I deserve.” he murmurs. Your face heats in embarrassment and you look away. 

“I’m not angry,” he says, “I don’t have a right to be.” He picks up another knife and clumsily starts cutting vegetables up. “I do remember what you told me a few years ago,” he said, “When I was railing at you that you just didn’t want to have sex with me because I’d gotten fat.”

You shrug, “It’s true,” you said, “I’ve never been particularly attracted to you.” Thor snorts, “Has there never been anyone before now?” You sigh. It’s an honest question. “A few people,” you say softly, “They felt so safe and I just wanted to go home so badly…” Your hands still for a moment as a tremor of longing makes the shiver. “I never acted on it,” you said, “But goddess above did I fucking want to.” Thor doesn’t look at you. He knows you aren’t trying to hurt him but it still stings. 

He’d never considered you as a being with a sex drive before. There was so much about you he never really considered that seeing you want someone that much made him hate that it wasn’t him. He cursed himself for the millionth time.

You had passions. You had needs. And it was his fault for being so wrapped up in other women that you were still practically a virgin. You knew how the parts fit together but Thor would swear to it that even with a man you felt attraction for you’d not know what to do. He sets the knife down and walks around the table, pulling you to him slowly. You don’t resist as much as he thought you might, letting your cheek rest against his chest and slowly wrapping your arms around him. “When this is over,” Thor said quietly, “You and I are going to take a vacation. Just you and I.” He brushes his lips against your hair. 

“Let me have a chance to treat you like I should have treated you?” he asks. After a long moment, you pull away from him as Children start to pour through the doors for snacks and help with homework. “As your majesty wills it, I suppose,” you say guardedly. But in the back of your mind no matter how hard you try to will it away, the others you’ve been attracted to are there. Lurking. Reminding you that you gave up happiness for duty.


	10. Chapter 10

The Wakandans leave, happy and with trade charters in hand. New Asgard is bartering Magic for technology and working together to forge the two into new variations of both. T’challa leaves without the last shard of your heart and leaves you still faithful to your husband. 

It had taken all your self-control not to press him into the nearest wall and kiss him until he was so drunk on you that he would have had no choice but to take you to bed. Goddess Above did he leave you longing. But you stayed faithful. You could look at Thor in the eye with no shame. Thor could not say the same. Just knowing that you had resisted when you, as far as Thor was concerned, had every right not to made him feel like even more of an ass. 

Thor stood with Brunhilde, watching you spar with Loki. It was not often Loki sparred with anyone if he could avoid it. Too many childhood memories of never being enough for his father no matter how many warriors he bested. But he would spar with you. Much like dancing it had always been a way for you two to have semi-private conversations. He couldn’t hear you but reading Loki’s face when he could catch a glimpse of it told him that you were being funny. 

He wished you’d be funny with him but you tended to restrict your comments about anything to bare facts and simple acquiescence. 

“Yes, husband.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“The Guardians of the Galaxy are here to speak with you, your majesty.”

Everyone else got to see you be funny. Got to see you be silly or dramatic. The parts of you that you hid from him because he’d made it clear he did not appreciate them. The parts of you that he swore would make you a poor queen. They very things that when you reclaimed them, made an actual Valkyrie more loyal to you than to him in many ways. The things that made Loki of all people want to protect you. 

Loki lost his dagger as you executed a very pretty little maneuver that threw him off his game. You caught the blade handily and held it, offering it back to him with a laugh. He took it and shook his head, “How do you do that?” he asked. You shrug, “I’m not really sure. I’ve had a sword in my hand since I was 4 years old. I started with wood and they just worked my way up… When I wasn’t doing my schooling among the mortals, I was traveling. Learning whatever there was to learn and working alongside my mother, learning how to be queen.” Loki took a drink of water and you picked up your own bottle, “I studied under quite a few master swordsmen and women when I was small,” you say, “Mother wanted me to have a well-rounded education.”

Thor looked at you in surprise, “So you studied in human schools?” You nod, “Went to college too. I studied economics and political science.” All this was delivered calmly but Thor could only blink at you. He had just assumed you were good at resituating Asgard because of Faery’s proximity to the mortals but no. You had literally had your entire life studied to be queen. You had more knowledge after 30 odd years alive than Thor had acquired in centuries. 

He’d been too preoccupied with fucking, feasting, and fighting to ever really learn how to be a good king. Odin hadn’t been particularly good at teaching him either. 

Brunhilde smiled a little and picked up her own blade, “Got another round in you today, your majesty?” she asked teasingly. “If I win, you get to pay for drinks,” you shoot back tossing your water into the grass carelessly and falling back on your heels in a fighting stance. 

The Valkyrie attacks then and you block about to launch your own attack when suddenly, your head whips in the direction of the breeze, “Drums,” you say rolling out of the way and trotting off that direction, “Someone’s coming.” You hardly have time to catch the person that falls through the doorway ripped open from Faery. Two someones. Your mother and the younger cousin. The one who hadn’t just taken over as Queen. “Loki,” you shout, “Get me healers, now.” They are bleeding, profusely. Blood soaks your clothing and the grass and you lay them out. 

In between ragged breaths, they tell you that the Queen of Air and Darkness has declared war on the Houses of Summer. That your older cousin is dead. That you must assume the throne. That you must lead the army and beat her back into the Winterlands. You stand slowly, “I invoke the powers of hospitality,” you speak, energy shimmering forth. “Take them to my cottage. As my guests. See to their every need.” You kiss your cousin’s cheek gently, “Try not to bleed on my furniture, darling. It’s new.” She laughs weakly and you kiss your mother before she is carried away. 

Another shimmer of magic kits you out for battle. Hair up, fighting sword in hand to replaced the blunted practice sword. The magic of a Fairy queen flowing around you like a river. A crown of golden leaves woven into your hair and silver battle tattoos lining your skin. Runes and sigils to enhance your abilities. You look like a Goddess to all the Asgardians present and several fall to their knees in awe. Thor looks at you and swallows hard, “I’m going with you,” he said.

“This is not a fight for Asgard,” you say, calm cat eyes regarding him coolly. “For the good of new Asgard, I go alone. Fey have long memories and this is bound to cause several slights. I’d prefer to not be fighting various gentry for the next 1000 years. This is a fight for my people.”

“These are your people,” Thor says, “And it is my duty to go with you. To protect you.” You shake your head, “It didn’t matter before,” you say, “So why would it matter now. It isn’t as if we have a child on the way.” You give parting orders to Loki and Brunhilde and Thor stands there dumbfounded as you step through a portal into Faerie. Leaving him behind with grim determination. You take no joy in this task. Another throne you never wanted. More duties and responsibilities. Another war to fight. 

When you’ve gone, a silence descends on the field. The queen is gone and with her, the rudder in this strange new world is gone too. Loki and Brunhilde may know what you want done but without your steady hands at the helm, it’s going to be difficult. 

And it is difficult. Weeks go by with no word. Finally, after 3 weeks, Amira and Loki manage to at least see you. You’re sitting beside a fire, sitting in a war council. Your eyes are sharp and attentive and a knight is watching you. Staring at you hungrily while you sit obliviously. Thor feels a nasty sensation in his stomach. Fear. This man is going to hurt you and there is no way for him to protect you. Amira explained that by invoking hospitality, so long as Asgard did not take part in the war, The Queen of Air and darkness had no grounds to exact retribution. As you and Thor had had no children to properly bind the two courts together, Faerie did not see her as a proper queen of Asgard. Thus her actions were entirely of Faerie. 

When you do stagger through a portal, tired and pale from exertion and weeks of battles without end in sight, Thor catches you. Your body is fine but your spirit needs rest. He strips your armor off carefully in your room, unwilling to surrender you to anyone else. 

You have bruises and new scars that are healing to nothing. He can sense the emotional damage it had done to watch your friends die. But there’s something else. You’ve never been shy of your body. Faeries just are not that way. But now you are trying to cover yourself as he starts a bath and goes to remove your clothing. It isn’t until his hands brush your bare skin that he can feel it. That his moment of fear had been correct. That you hadn’t been able to fight back hard enough. You felt like you’d broken a vow. That you’d failed. And it was eating you up inside despite how many times Thor had broken it. 

“Oh sweetheart,” he murmurs, pulling you into him. Stopping what he’s doing and pulling you to him, locking his arms around you and rocking you gently. “I’m sorry,” you murmur sinking your nails into the palm of your hand to keep from crying. “I’m not angry at you,” he said softly, “I’m angry that it happened to you. It isn’t your fault.” He says it and prays you believe him because he means every single word. “Let’s get you a nice hot bath,” he soothes. You nod mutely. Just the fact that you don’t have to tell him details means a lot. 

Thor’s hands are gentle as he helps you into the water. The one extravagant thing in your cottage is the tub. Big enough for 3 people at least. A place for you to sulk and read books. You sink into the water with a grateful sigh and Thor kisses the bruise on your shoulder gently without thinking. He doesn’t speak much. Not beyond quiet endearments and asking if he can do things for you. 

He washes your hair carefully and spends ages washing the skin he can reach without being invasive or making you feel like he’s being pushy. When you’re ready to get out, worn out from crying and relaxed from the heat of the water, Thor helps you out and wraps you in towels, letting you dry yourself to avoid touching you too intimately. “Can you sleep?” he asked gently.

You shake your head, “I haven’t been able to since… everything,” you say. Thor nods, “Then we’ll just watch movies,” he says, “I’ll go start the kettle and see if I can sweet talk Loki into dragging Brunhilde up here with pizza.” You nod mutely, shuffling off to get dressed and Thor makes a phone call.

It doesn’t take much explaining to get the Valkyrie and Loki to come to the cottage. It’s quiet with your mother and cousin still sleeping upstairs but Thor and Brunhilde make a decent sized nest of blankets and pillows on a pull-out sofa and Loki brings pizza and alcohol. They know you’ll deal with your emotions silently in your own time but for now, they won’t leave you alone.

The cuddle pile on the pull out sofa is peak comfortable for you. There’s not much talking, just people near enough that you can feel them if you need them. Warm gentle hands that brush away quiet tears and softness. Thor is careful with you, staying near you but not pulling you close unless he notices you drifting into some dark corner of your mind. Somewhere between the 3rd movie and your 6th beer, you realize how good it feels to be close to him.

His belly makes a nice pillow and so that’s how you fall asleep. Your head on his stomach as you lay across Loki’s lap and Brunhilde lays her head on your thigh, using your legs as a body pillow. Before long you are asleep. Warm and comforted by the presence of the Asgardians. Thor pets your hair gently and puts an arm around Loki. “Don’t fuck this up, Thor,” the trickster cautioned. 

Thor looked down at you and swallowed hard. You’d actually leaned into him. You reached for him. You’d needed comfort and you reached for him. He couldn’t feel much pride about it, but he did feel his heart race slightly when you nuzzled into him in your sleep. Thor hushed Loki quietly and watched you. You needed rest. Not just for your body but your mind. 

He realized that he loved you. Desperately. And then he cursed himself. Almost 13 years wed and he only now started to love his wife. Only after she’d been broken and rebuilt. Only after he’d done the breaking. He really was the worst type of man.


	11. Chapter 11

Thor watches you heal slowly. He watches you like a hawk, ready to scoop you up at any moment’s discomfort. He doesn’t care if he ever wins your love again, he just wants you to be safe and happy. He wants to make sure that you never have another night crying while he snores next to you.

Loki and Brunhilde get considerably more helpful, telling him where you’ve gone when they spot him looking for you. You bridge New Asgard and Faerie together, uniting them into one kingdom. It’s a strange sort of felicity. Having your Mother and cousin in reach again is helpful to you and so they stay. They coddle you and it’s not uncommon for the three of you to be found sipping tea in your garden when Thor strolls by in the cottage in the evening to bring you flowers. 

He hasn’t been permitted to live there but on bad nights, when he comes to bring you flowers and you reach for his sleeve, not able to bring yourself to take his hand but needing him to stay close, he gets to sleep over. He pulls you against him, cradling you gently until his hands in your hair and the warmth of his body lull you into sleep. Sometimes, even with him near you to be a wall of warmth and comfort, the nightmares that woke you screaming and jolting out of bed made him thankful for his strength as he locked his arms around you and held you to him, rumbling endearments and jostling you gently to try and wake you. He hated those nights. When nothing could calm you and you still dragged yourself out of bed in the morning bleary red eyes and trembling hands.

“Sweetheart,” he protested, taking your coffee cup and your plate before you dropped them, “You need rest.” You were losing weight at an alarming pace. You ate little and slept less. You mostly ran on autopilot. It was like watching you on Asgard except it broke his heart. “I’m okay,” you say rubbing your eyes, “I just need to keep moving.”

Thor frowns and pulls out your chair, “I think we need a holiday,” he coaxes. “Just us for a little while. You can read books and lay in a hammock all day. We’ll just relax and you can teach me how to cook.” He rubs your shoulders and works his thumbs into the back of your neck gently, looking for sore spots to ease out. You sigh, “I don’t want you to have to deal with me alone for that long.”

“Deal with you?” he asks slowly, “That implies that you’re a problem.” He turns your chair and kneels in front of you. “You’ve never been the problem, Y/N. You’ve always been so fucking kind and patient. So much fucking better than me. I was always the problem. I wouldn’t put my pride aside for anyone. Not even you. Not when we were betrothed, not at our wedding, not when you were with child, not any time after that.” He cradles your face in his hands and kisses your nose, “This is not a burden, my queen. This is an honor. The highest honor you could pay me… Let me do this for you?”

He leans in slowly, capturing your lips in a careful kiss. He feels your hesitation. This was not dutiful pecks and posturing for his mother. His lips were warm and soft against yours. The hands that cradled your face were tender. It was the first kiss you had always wanted and now that he’s doing it you feel a lot of feelings. 

You’re angry and hurt but you don’t want him to stop. Tears run down your cheeks as the emotions rush through you. You want him to keep kissing you and you lean into him, your hands finding his collar. You’re clumsy and uncertain. He can feel the attraction in you rising for him. The need.

He’s never felt it before and it makes his heart skip. His head swims and his heart pounds. He tries to gentle you but he can’t bring himself to. He can taste the tears on your lips and he keeps his hands on your face gently. When you come up for air with a sob and cover your face with your hands can’t focus for a second. He feels drunk. Drunk and really horny. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time. At least not like this. It’s like he’s an inexperienced boy again as he fumbles for a handkerchief for you. “Y/N,” he murmurs, “Gods, what did you do to me?” he chuckles and wipes your face tenderly. You are not a pretty crier. You also don’t cry unless you’re feelings have gotten so intense you don’t know what else to do. It’s endearing in a way. Your cheeks color, “It’s… it’s a power.” Thor smiles a little. His head is clearing now that he isn’t kissing you. “It happens when I’m attracted to someone.” 

Thor stands slowly and holds out his hands, “Well, sweetheart,” he said, “I think I’d like to keep kissing you if you feel up to it.” You bite your lip and look up at him, uncertain. “You can tell me no,” he said gently, “this is new and probably scary.” You take a deep breath and find your feet reaching for his hands. 

“Please kiss me?” you ask softly. You needed… you needed to know that there was more to intimacy than apathy and violence. You needed to be wanted. You needed to know that your husband was actually here with you and not with Sif or Jane in his mind. Thor can hear the need. The vulnerability in your voice. You’re standing in the kitchen, the last fragile shard of your heart in your hands, begging him to take it and please don’t break it. He leans in and kisses you a little more insistently. He can’t help his hands that slide down your body and knead your hips for a moment making you sigh against his lips. He makes a note of it mentally. He was honestly ashamed that he didn’t know how to touch you but he was grateful to learn. You deserved the world from him. And he was going to give it to you. 

He carried you to the couch and pulled you into him, holding you on his lap and losing himself in the press of your lips on his. He guided you gently, adjusting you and showing you how to move your lips. When your hands find the buttons on his shirt he stills and lets you unbutton them. The god feels a twinge of embarrassment about his body but pushes it away quickly. This isn’t about him and you didn’t feel anything for him as a hard-bodied, chiseled warrior. If you’d rather have him as a soft-bellied king, who is he to argue? When his shirt is off you stop kissing him and smooth your hands over his skin. His soft chest his shoulders, the squishy tum you use as a pillow from time to time. You caress and explore, focused on being allowed to touch him. On even wanting to touch him. Thor holds still. He’s learned enough to know that this is necessary to you. you need to indulge in this. You’re tactile under normal circumstances. You crave casual touch even if it’s only been a day or so since you’ve been touched. It doesn’t surprise Thor at all that a big part of your needs now is just to be allowed to indulge them. To touch the person you’re attracted to after so long denying yourself that. 

Your husband closes his eyes and relaxes under your touch, “That’s nice, Y/N,” he murmurs. “Here,” he shifts you easily to have you straddle his lap and his hands look for the hem of your shirt, sliding his hands under it to touch your skin. You blush and smile at him shyly and Thor rubs your sides, “It’s easier for me to touch you too if you sit this way, sweetheart.” You kiss him again and for the next few minutes, there are no more words. Thor strips you slowly out of your shirt and removes your bra. Taking the time to lavish kisses on your bare skin. His hands are reaching for the button on your pants when the front door bursts open.

“Yo, thunder dork!” Comes Rocket’s voice, “Is it cool if we all crash here for a few days?” Thor curses under his breath and hastily wraps his oversized shirt around you to cover you. “Fuck me,” he mutters. You giggle and hide your face in his shoulder. Thor can’t help it. He laughs. This has got to be retribution from Frigga. He finally wants to have sex with his wife. He has her half-naked and wanting. And he gets cockblocked by the fucking rabbit. Somewhere Odin is laughing. 

Tags:


	12. Chapter 12

Rocket stood in the doorway, smirking at Thor as you quickly buttoned his flannel around you to cover yourself.

Thor sighed and looked at Rocket, “Yes,” he said, “Fine, we’ll find places for you to sleep.” Thor was irritated at being interrupted. His head was swimming but clearing rapidly which also irritated him. He liked being drunk on you and feeling your desire. His past self absolutely did not know what he was missing. “Rocket?” you ask not turning around, so only Thor sees you wink.

“Yes, your majesty?” he says the smirk falling off his face. He hadn’t realized it was you straddling Thor’s lap. Rocket had honestly thought that you had left New Asgard and Thor was trying to impress some hapless groupie and that he might get to see you beat someone to death for staining your couch. “It’s lovely to see you again, please do come back for tea? And learn to knock,” you say all this pleasantly but the censure is still clear. You don’t take kindly to uninvited guests. Rocket clears his throat, the crude creature struggling for what to say.

He has a lot of respect for you for reasons Thor does not fully comprehend. Though he suspects that it has something to do with the way you made accommodations for him easily. Without question and without him having to ask for them. “Of course, your majesty,” he manages, scurrying out and yelling at Drax to stop standing in your flowers like an idiot.

As you get off your husband’s lap, blushing and trying not to laugh, the big man watches you with fondness in his face, “You look good in my shirt,” he says helping you roll up the sleeves, “Keep it on?” The look you give him makes his heart stutter. You’re looking up at him all wide-eyed and dewy. That same look you gave puppies and little children who brought you pictures they colored. And your smile, soft and slow as it spreads across your face. He’s seen that smile from a distance before but never in person. He kisses your forehead and wraps his arms around you as he stands, wanting just one more moment of you, happy in his arms. Thor tugged lightly at his t-shirt. It was just slightly tighter than he liked them to be. He felt too big and too aware of his size even if he knew you didn’t care about his body.

You nuzzle his tummy softly and rest your cheek against it, taking advantage of the height difference to remind him that you like his belly. You like the comfortable warmth and softness of him. It’s safe. Thor feels his face color but he relaxes, reminding himself that if you like him as he is then who is he to argue. Thor watches as you walk towards the door of your cottage, greeting the Guardians with a smile and a wave, directing them towards the tavern where you’ll see that they’re fed. Thor follows after, shutting the door to your cottage and falling into step with you, shyly lacing his fingers through yours. He had to touch you.

In the Tavern, Loki and Brunhilde exchange a look at your joined hands but say nothing. Loki knows that look on his brother’s face. He’s in love. He’d been dancing around it for weeks now but it seemed that he had finally fallen. Hard. He knew it was no spell but it was still jarring. 

The man had hated you for a decade and now he was pulling out your chair and you were wearing his shirt. The Valkyrie waited until Thor went to the bar and followed him. At her scowl he quailed a little, “What?” he asked, self-conscious. Brunhilde folded her arms, “You know what,” she said, “This is the portion of the evening where I remind you that if your hurt the Queen, I will end you. Painfully.” Thor smiled a little, “I do not intend to hurt her. I intend to take care of her. The way I should have been doing.” The other woman looked towards where you were in polite conversation with Quill and Rocket. Quill was flirting with you, clearly feeling the effects a fey could have on a human. Rocket was watching him smirking. You looked mildly discomfited. Quill was edging closer to you slowly. The Valkyrie started towards you but Thor stopped her, stepping in himself. He wrapped his arms around your waist, feeling possessive of you he dropped a soft kiss on your shoulder in hello. Quill stammered for a moment and backed up a fraction. He hadn’t ever met you really. He’d seen you from a distance talking to Loki. He thought you were a servant or something. You lean back into Thor, grateful for his intervention. Your discomfort was quickly turning to panic. 

Now that he’s near you, Thor can feel the tension in your body and he doesn’t like it. He’s never asked you for details and be probably won’t, not unless you volunteer them. But the man who had assaulted you had better pray he was dead before Thor got to him. The god strokes your side and smiles when Loki hands you a pint of cider. His brother is giving him the same look that Brunhilde did and he knows that if he steps one toe out of line, he better be able to outrun them. Once the Guardians are seen to and comfortable you look up at Thor, you look tired. Too many emotions in one day, he supposes. That always wears on you. You experience each one fully and it’s exhausting just to watch sometimes. 

“Will you walk me home?” you ask quietly. Thor nods, finishing his drink quickly. He knows that nothing would ever happen to you here in New Asgard. But he also knows that you’re probably asking because you don’t feel comfortable quite yet after Quill’s frankly obscene comments this evening. He was trying to impress you and just made you feel gross. You feel like you need a shower and you need Thor. You need him to be there to grab onto when the fragile calm you’ve soothed yourself into falls apart again. 

Thor tucks your hand in the crook of his arm and holds it there lightly, guiding you through crowded tables onto the street. Outside he leans down and kisses you lightly, “My Queen,” he murmurs, smoothing flyaway hairs out of your face with a massive paw. You feel the blush stain your cheeks and he smiles a little. So soft on the outside. So strong on the inside. He walks you home idly humming to himself. For the first time in a long time, he is happy. Truly happy. There is a peace and contentment in being next to you, ruling beside you that he’s never known. Asgard is at peace. The summer fey are at peace. And you have feelings for him. It had taken a year but as you walk beside him, wearing his shirt and tucked against his side, he can’t help but marvel at you. When he had been ready to resign himself to living in misery as you had, caring for you despite your apathy towards him he hadn’t noticed the walls crumbling around that last shard of your heart. 

They were gone and he had claimed it as his own, making a silent promise to himself to rebuild what he had broken. He couldn’t bring himself to ask you about children. He knew you wanted them. That you wanted to cuddle babies of your own. For him it was a more vague concept. He knew children would need to happen but he didn’t know how he felt about it. All he knew was that he’d like to see what you looked like all rounded out and glowing. Part of that was his powers but to be fair, he had never wanted children with Sif. Or Jane. He had loved them both as a foolish boy loves. Jealous and possessive. Heavy with desire and flowery words but short of sacrifice or empathy. He wanted to support you as you supported him. He wanted to show you what it was supposed to feel like to be with a man. 

He was so lost in thought that he’s surprised to find himself in your kitchen, watching you unbutton his shirt. When your chest is bare again he doesn’t think, he scoops you up and carries you to your bed. It’s big, meant for a queen to be able to sprawl out comfortably in. And soft. Perfect for what Thor means to do. He strips himself completely before reaching for the button on your pants, “Still okay?” he asks softly, tilting your chin up. You nod and blush. His hands haven’t felt this good on your skin before. This is no clinical, dutiful coupling for the creation of an heir. This is something else. 

He helps you out of your pants and turns the lights down. He wants to see you but the overhead light is too bright. As he lays you gently on the bed and parts your thighs, he smiles at you. You’re laying against the pillows watching him. Uncertain and blushing. “Sweetheart, just relax for me,” he soothes, “I’ll be right here and if anything happens that you don’t like, I’ll stop. Just tell me.” 

You nod and he goes to work, lavishing attention on your body. He reads every sigh and every wince like an expert. He knows what he wants to do. He wants you to experience pleasure under his hands. He wants you to feel pleasantly sore in the morning. He takes his time. Every pant and hitch in your breath making him thrill a little. His cock is dripping for you but he waits. This isn’t about him. This is about making sure you know what sex is supposed to feel like. How a man should behave when he’s lucky enough to get between your thighs.

The soft cry when he swipes his tongue over your clit makes him groan. You sound so good, despite your quiet. He sucks lightly, intent on making you come apart for him until you’re boneless and trembling. When you do come for him, it crashes down on you all at once and he chuckles until he hears the alarmed tone of your voice as you try to pull away, “Thor?” you whimper as the aftershocks leave you breathless. He stops then. Never in 13 years of marriage have you called him by name. He cuddles you, covering your face in kisses and bringing you down gently. In the silence, tracing patterns in the sweat on your skin, Thor can feel himself throb and he shifts to get comfortable. There’s time. All the time. But when you turn to him with hungry kisses and eager eyes he needs no more encouragement. 

He situates you on his lap, straddling his hips and helps you to ease down onto his cock. He knows you’ve felt him before. But not like this. He’s big and hard yes, but now you’re comfortably full of him instead of waiting for it to be over. He murmurs instructions to you gently, telling you to move when you feel ready. And you do, slowly at first, shyly putting hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. Thor cups your ass in his hands and squeezes lightly, “Yes,” he groans, “Yes, fuck. Oh you’re so fucking tight. Y/N, please don’t stop.” He brings one hand up and finds your clit. He wants you to come on his cock and he can feel you getting close. “Thor,” you sigh, biting his lip. He pushes you over the edge into bliss circling your clit to keep you coming for him, drawing it out. He wants you full of his seed and when he spends inside you, he pulls you to him, kissing you hungrily. “You said my name,” he said, cuddling you. “Say it again?” he asks softly. And you do, whispered like a prayer against his skin as you kiss his neck.


	13. Chapter 13

2030- The Epilogue 

It’s a bright summer day in new Asgard. The wind is soft and warm and there isn’t one cloud in the sky. You’re lounging in the shade, enjoying a moment of semi-peace and watching Brunhilde chase a chubby little 5 year old through the grass. She has blonde curls and impossibly blue eyes. All puppy fat and coltish legs and tiny dimples hands. “Frigga, don’t you dare!” the Valkyrie says without any real heat as the girl picks up the hose and sprays her with it.

You laugh from your spot in the shade and stretch your back trying to get comfortable though between the heat and being six months pregnant with twins there are not many ways you can actually do that at the moment.

Thor ambles up the hill with Loki, deep in conversation about something. Probably expanding the apple orchards so that the sweet golden apples can start being sold as an extra revenue stream. Frigga drops the hose and bolts into his arms. He scoops her up, his great big laugh making the babies inside you turn and kick at the sound and you smooth a hand over your stomach to try and settle them a little but you know that now that Thor is here just his voice will have them doing all kinds of backflips, despite your protests. Thor returns the giggling child to the waiting Valkyrie and Loki, after giving you a smile and a wink suggests that perhaps, her majesty wouldn’t mind if he treated his favorite princess to ice cream. The delighted giggles as he swung Frigga onto his shoulders and lead her and Valkyrie back to town made you smile. Frigga won’t want dinner but it’s desperately hot and you’re desperately tired today. It had been a long week trying to get things settled in Faerie after some youthful idiot had inadvertently nearly started a war. 

Your husband sits behind you, his legs on either side of yours and lets you lean back against his chest before putting his arms around you. “You look especially lovely today, my queen,” he says voice warm against your ear. You make a soft uncomfortable noise when a tiny foot finds a rib and sigh, “I’m glad you think so.” The giant of a man chuckles and rubs your belly with his big hands, trying to help you settle the rambunctious twins a little. “You should also be laying down,” he scolded gently, “The midwife said…” You groan in frustration, “I can’t just keep Frigga in the house all day. She wanted to play outside. So we brought out some of her toys and I set myself up in the shade… Orders to get a nap in the afternoon are fine but not practical when you have a 5-year-old. I’m glad Brunhilde made it up here when she did or I would have probably had to chase her halfway into town.” Thor kisses your neck, making you shiver despite the heat, “Well sweetheart, let’s get you into the house where it’s cool. We’ve got time to make sure you get your nap and I’ll have a talk with our princess about taking it easier on her mummy.” He helps you off the ground gently but firmly and helps you into the house, taking a moment to admire just how adorable you look when you waddle. It won’t be long until you have to be in bed entirely and Thor is dreading it. It had happened with Frigga because you had worked too hard and now with the twins you had no choice but to slow down. It was a blessing and a curse so far as Thor was concerned. But, Brunhilde was happy to take Frigga during the day when the midwife finally insisted you had to stay abed and Loki could keep things running so Thor could tend to you. Not to mention your mother and your cousin who were more than happy to help you wrangle your energetic princess. 

Thor stayed behind you on the stairs ready to help you if you needed it. He could see just from your shoulders that you were uncomfortable and you needed some attending to. The bedroom was dark and cool and the god made sure twice, that he had locked the door. He had time. Plenty of it, he knew Loki was going to keep Frigga entertained until at least sundown when it was time for bed. He and Thor had talked about it. You needed a rest and some time to just not make decisions. 

Thor helped you out of your clothes tenderly, taking the time to kiss every stretchmark or insecurity he could find. You were beautiful to him every day but he always had a soft spot for you like this, full of his babies and soft. Once you were bared to him he let you undress him and let you admire him. You weren’t the only one that liked his belly. That had been one of Frigga’s favorite places to fall asleep as a baby whenever he would fall asleep holding her on the couch. He imagines it will be the same for the twins. You look up at him and smile, pulling him down for a kiss that makes him dizzy. He’ll never get used to that and he doesn’t want to. It’s delicious. He helps you lie down comfortably on the bed. On your side with a pillow to help support you. Right now, Thor decides, soft snuggly lovemaking is what you need. You’re too tired and uncomfortable for him to take you another way. He can feel the need in you and as he spoons up against you, petting your belly and fondling your breasts he realizes that he needed this too. 

By the time Loki brings Frigga and Brunhilde back to the house, Korg and Meik have arrived and Thor is helping you with dinner. If your honest, he’s doing most of the work. Though not for lack of trying on your part. He simply takes things out of your hands while he distracts you with kisses. Or with Frigga who’s come home very dirty and covered in chocolate. You accept the sticky kisses and cuddle her happily before letting Brunhilde take her to throw her in the tub. “Loki, how?” you ask laughing. Loki gives you a helpless shrug and an apologetic smile. “I turned around for 3 seconds to help someone and I turn back and she’s wearing most of her ice cream and trying to feed sprinkles to some ants.” You laugh harder and kiss his cheek, “’Please tell me there are pictures?” 

He nods, “I sent them to you, don’t worry.” He notices you wince at a hard kick and puts a hand on your back and guides you to a chair, “Darling, I don’t think the midwife is going to put you on bedrest,” he chuckles, “You’re going to pop long before then.” You shush him and stretch your back as he kisses your head, “They’re just a little extra excited today. As long as they’ll let me get some sleep tonight we’ll be fine.” He shakes his head and kisses the hand that’s holding his, “Aside from tired and slightly miserable, how are you feeling?” he asks a little anxious. You smile up at him, “We’re fine, Loki. We’re all fine and healthy. I’m hungry and my back is still sore but we’re fine,” you soothe. He kisses your head and takes a seat next to you as Thor hands you a plate and a glass of water with a soft smile. “You look better after your nap though,” he murmurs before he walks away making you blush. 

A warm clean Frigga wiggles her way into what little is left of your lap and you cuddle her, coaxing her into eating a few bites of dinner as she drifts off despite the noise at the table. You hold her and kiss her curls and the tiny dimpled hand that rests on your chest. It feels like just yesterday she was in a sling close to your heart as you sat at the table, in this exact spot, still sore and healing from giving birth. Loki’s arm was on the back of your chair as it is now. Brunhilde was terrified to hold the baby for fear she’d break her. Thor was terrified to wake Frigga after you’d just gotten her to sleep. But it still felt just as it did now. The light of the little cottage shining into the dark.


End file.
